Lestrade’s eyes shot up from the document. He looked at Mycroft but said nothing, his chest rising high with adrenaline and exertion. Mycroft took in his rumpled, dirtied shirt; the traces of mud over his exposed neck; his hooded eyes, flashing rhythmically with each turn of the blue light on top of the nearest police car—and he gulped. Lestrade’s eyes lowered quickly to the document in his hand and he scribbled his signature at the bottom; then, as the officer left, his eyes returned to Mycroft’s face. The few seconds had been enough for Mycroft to compose himself though. He lifted his umbrella, examining its tip unnecessarily as was his ritual.
Charles: I know I don’t tell you often, but lately I’ve been thinking of our magnetic attraction. Because as they say, opposites attract.
Charles: Opposites? Like the negative and positive poles of a magnet?
Do you ever just…have to convince yourself to NOT unfollow someone? The struggle is fucking real, I s2g.
*blows kiss to the bottom of the pacific ocean (for the kaiju)*