Over the next week, the number of fishbowls—and, consequently, goldfish—in Mycroft’s home steadily increased. Every morning he would wake to find a new fishbowl (or five) in some odd place in his house. At this point, there was a fish in every room in the house, and multiples in some rooms. It was annoying, to say the least; Mycroft briefly considered warning his security personnel about his brother sneaking onto the premises and to apprehend him if necessary. But that was too much work, and Mycroft couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it.
So he accepted Sherlock’s gifts, strange as they may be, and took the extra time to feed the fish and make sure none of them died.
Unfortunately, that first one in his office was floating belly-up when he arrived home one evening, and he was forced to flush the poor thing.
Surprisingly, Mycroft actually felt a little sad having to dispose of the dead creature.
Unsurprisingly, there was another fish on his desk the next morning to take the place of the dead one.
.
4.
This was getting a bit ridiculous.
Apparently it wasn’t enough for Sherlock to invade Mycroft’s home with tens of goldfish. Now he had gone and left a small tank of them—six to be exact—in Mycroft’s office at the Diogenes Club.
Sherlock, this has to stop. Now.
I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, brother dear. SH
Sure. Like Mycroft would believe that.
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Mycroft opened the lid of the tank and shook some food into the water, which the fish ate greedily before the flakes could float down to the bottom.
At second glance, Mycroft noticed an algae eater near the bottom of the tank, suckling against the glass.
Well, okay then.
Foregoing his work for the time being, Mycroft just sat back in his plush chair and watched the fish swim back and forth. It was almost hypnotic, watching their shining bodies slither through the water with ease, twisting and turning and flapping their tiny fins. He watched their gills flap with rapt interest as they breathed, almost in wonder at the little creatures that did little more than swim and eat and leave a trail of excrement behind them as they swam.
Fill: A World of Goldfish (2/3)
Over the next week, the number of fishbowls—and, consequently, goldfish—in Mycroft’s home steadily increased. Every morning he would wake to find a new fishbowl (or five) in some odd place in his house. At this point, there was a fish in every room in the house, and multiples in some rooms. It was annoying, to say the least; Mycroft briefly considered warning his security personnel about his brother sneaking onto the premises and to apprehend him if necessary. But that was too much work, and Mycroft couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it.
So he accepted Sherlock’s gifts, strange as they may be, and took the extra time to feed the fish and make sure none of them died.
Unfortunately, that first one in his office was floating belly-up when he arrived home one evening, and he was forced to flush the poor thing.
Surprisingly, Mycroft actually felt a little sad having to dispose of the dead creature.
Unsurprisingly, there was another fish on his desk the next morning to take the place of the dead one.
.
4.
This was getting a bit ridiculous.
Apparently it wasn’t enough for Sherlock to invade Mycroft’s home with tens of goldfish. Now he had gone and left a small tank of them—six to be exact—in Mycroft’s office at the Diogenes Club.
Sherlock, this has to stop. Now.
I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, brother dear. SH
Sure. Like Mycroft would believe that.
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Mycroft opened the lid of the tank and shook some food into the water, which the fish ate greedily before the flakes could float down to the bottom.
At second glance, Mycroft noticed an algae eater near the bottom of the tank, suckling against the glass.
Well, okay then.
Foregoing his work for the time being, Mycroft just sat back in his plush chair and watched the fish swim back and forth. It was almost hypnotic, watching their shining bodies slither through the water with ease, twisting and turning and flapping their tiny fins. He watched their gills flap with rapt interest as they breathed, almost in wonder at the little creatures that did little more than swim and eat and leave a trail of excrement behind them as they swam.
Maybe goldfish weren’t so bad.