Chapter Text
“I haven’t had lobster in a long while!”
“Behave!” Mycroft scolded his brother, wondering why he’d allowed the utter animal to sit with him in the first place. The table seated a party of four, which was two more people than Mycroft would have liked. As much as he’d have liked to dismiss the entire dining hall till it was just him and Albert, his two years loving the man had taught him to find the warmth and contentment in subtlest of gestures, like the knee that rested against his under the table, occasionally bumping.
“Director,” William said, calling Mycroft’s attention before he likely lost his composure and punched Sherlock for his abhorrent table manners. “Apologies for interrupting your thoughts, however it’s not every day I’d get to meet a man in your position and so I request you- please do quell my curiosity about a certain matter. I’m sure you would be the most aware of such a case.”
Mycroft ordered himself not to tense, and simply nodded in affirmation. He could already guess what William Moriarty’s question was, and he was prepared to respond with the smoothest lie, however, if Albert’s praise of his brother was anything to go by, Mycroft would need to be perfectly unsuspicious with his response.
“As a citizen of London, I do feel fear at these rumours about a certain violent criminal who has taken to the uprising. My circles address him as ‘the Lord of Crime’ in their gossip. I bring this up in hope of some reassurance that you have forces employed to subdue such a killer,” William said, his voice a perfect façade of genuine sincerity.
“Why of course,” Mycroft said with a lie of rivalling quality, acting as though the mere implication that he would not yet have taken action on the matter at hand offended him personally.
He continued speaking as if he had no idea the killers being spoken of were right at that table. “I obviously can’t reveal much, however The Crown recognises the threat that this merciless killer poses to our great nation. Something so disruptive to our peace is being pursued with utmost power! You needn’t long fear the Lord of-
“The Lord of Crime!” Sherlock interrupted “Is not someone your redcoats can handle, Mycroft.” He unraveled the swan that his napkin had been folded into and wiped his hands before turning to William. “I understand your fear sir, but I find it senseless that you irrationally fear someone with a motive clear as day. I do not believe you to be the type of target he would pursue, unless you’ve committed some atrocities that escaped even the eyes and ears of my sources.” He smiled, a bit of pride in his eyes before they caught those of Mycroft, leading him to quickly add- “Apologies if I offended you, but you see, the Lord of Crime is topic of great interest to me.”
“That’s enough now.” Surprisingly it was Albert who spoke, putting his cutlery down by his plate, looking up with a frown.
“The Director is here on vacation, just as we are, so really Will it’s rather rude to interrogate him when I’ve introduced him here as a work acquaintance. And either way, murder and the likes is too gloomy a topic! While I am in no authority to scold your brother, Director, I feel it necessary to at least request everyone at this table to stick to more merry conversation!”
There was silence for a moment, before Mycroft spoke.
“Right. So, I believe I saw a third member in your party at the docks. Is he not aboard?”
“Ah, Louis?” William replied, the weight of Albert’s reprimand having lifted from the table with the change in topic. “No, he isn’t here. He unfortunately gets utterly seasick, so he simply came to see us off.”
“Oh that’s-,” Mycroft started, his train of thought breaking when he noticed Albert stand up from the table.
“Excuse me please,” Albert announced apologetically. “I would like to go look at the stage set up for the ballet before the show starts. I read in the playbook that the lead ballerina was in a production of ‘Ballet Comique de la Reine’ I happened to see as a child. I think it customary to meet her and compliment her past work,” he lied. In reality, he needed to move forward with the agenda of murder and speak to the target himself.
“Ah well, I’m done eating too,” Mycroft said. “Might I join you?”
“Er-,”
“Ah, but Director, the ballet starts rather soon- just an hour left, and I believe some sauce to have splashed upon your shirt collar, likely from an unfortunately angled cracking of your lobster shell,” William pointed out, gesturing to a stain Mycroft swore wasn’t there a second ago. “You ought to change into a new shirt before the production begins.”
“I,” Mycroft glanced from William to Albert, and then back to William before sighing. “I suppose I should. Thank you for pointing it out.” He stood up from his seat, fixing his jacket over the stain. “I’ll see you for the show then, Moriartys.” He bowed his head slightly before taking his leave, Sherlock being the only one left at the table, as Albert gave a meaningful nod to his brother, and they both left in the direction of the stage area.
Once they were out of Sherlock’s view, William wandered off to speak to Moran, and Albert went to the Billiards room to find Enders and introduce himself.
He maximised his flattery and complimented the other’s billiards skills, and soon, Enders invited him to sit with him in the balcony for the ballet.
Perfect. Albert grinned internally. The fly was in the trap.
“I met your younger brother earlier,” Enders said. “Very pleasant gentleman much like yourself, I must say. The refinement is an island in the sea of filth aboard this ship.”
Albert was saved from needing to grace that disgusting statement with a response as Moran approached the two and informed Enders that he had a telegram.
“Ah, you ought to attend to that. I shall see you in the balcony for the show, yes. Pleasure speaking with you Count Enders,” Albert said, voice sounding so sincere he could have fooled even himself.
“Yes, see you around then.”
It would be soon that Enders would snap at the bait and the show could truly begin. For the moment, the ball was in William’s court, to convince Enders to attempt to dispose the body of the victim in the way it could be procured by Fred and Moran.
Albert chose to take a moment to himself, leaving on the railings and gazing upon the great blue sea. He sighed. He wouldn’t be able to sit with Mycroft for the ballet. He had to sit with Enders to point out the disguised Fred and ensure that Enders chased after the trick.
It was fifteen minutes before Albert moved to the stage area, scanning the rows for Enders.
“Al,” came a voice from behind him and he whipped around to see Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes looking at him, one more excited than the other. “It’s almost time, where have you been?” Mycroft asked. “Come along, I’ve name-dropped at bit to acquire front row sea-,”
“Ah Moriarty, there you are.” A grinning Enders interrupted. The fact that a murder had made his mood to be such sickened Albert to his core. “I’m just heading to my seat, hurry on.”
Mycroft blinked, looking at Albert for an explanation, however was met with just an apologetic glance. “Alb-,”
“Right, I was just looking for you actually,” Albert said, forcing himself to ignore Mycroft and smile at Enders. The hardest part was to walk away knowing that his lover felt confused and betrayed.
Once they were seated, Albert had to do everything not to wince from the analytical glance that Mycroft was giving him from down below. Act one was finished with Albert registering barely any of it. No matter- it was now time to proceed with other matters.
“By Jove, Count Enders! Look there at that man! He’s pickpocketing that gentleman over there!” Albert said, feigning conversational disgust as the disguised Fred snagged a gold pocket watch from a stranger.
Ender’s gaze followed Albert’s, and it was mildly funny when his eyes widened in shock and recognition. “It can’t be!” he shrieked, looking again with his binoculars this time before sprinting away without a word. Albert smiled to himself- though only for a moment, because then, his gaze met Mycroft’s and a heavy blanket of guilt settled upon his heart.
-x-
It was chaos when Enders arose on the stage, stabbing a man to death.
“Wait a minute. Isn’t that, Count Blitz Enders?!” Albert had called, and the bedlam further lasted up until he jumped off the ship. Albert sighed, as William, Moran and Fred came to his side, exchanging glances of congratulations for a job well done.
“Excuse me please,” Albert said as Moran suggested they get drinks from the bar. He had spotted a familiar ponytailed Holmes standing alone in the corner, thoughtful.
“Sherlock,” he said, approaching the other. “Do you know where your brother is?”
Sherlock looked him up and down, before nodding, but saying nothing else.
“Er…can you tell me where he is?”
“No.” Sherlock said. “He doesn’t want to see you right now.” He all but stormed away from Albert.
Oh. Oh god. Mycroft was…hurt.
“Sherlock!” he followed the other. “Please! I need to explain to him- I- I need to talk to him, and apologise, please.”
Sherlocked paused his walking, silent for a moment before sighing. “He’s in my room. I’ll take you, but if you-“ he sighed. “Just don’t be an arsehole to my brother alright. Believe it or not, he has feelings. Big ones too.”
“I know,” Albert said softly. “I know. Thank you.”
“Come along.”