Dismissal
Ah, what a lovely day this was turning out to be! A surprisingly productive conversation with his brother, a very important letter sent, arrangements for their little project made, and it wasn’t even midday! Mycroft smiled slightly as he made his way through the Palace corridors to the Grand Hall for his monthly audiences with the commonwealth representatives. Normally this was a part of his job that he didn’t much enjoy, but as everything was going his way, he found himself feeling magnanimous.
Unfortunately, his good mood didn’t last. As the young king stepped through the doorway and into the Grand Hall, he saw one of his adviser's, Lord James, on the podium. His podium. Sitting in his throne. Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, his right fist clenching in anger, as he watched Lord James astride the throne, sitting casually as though it was his place, as though he was king. Now, this wouldn’t have been that big of a problem, because if Mycroft was being completely honest with himself the throne was truly the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever had the misfortune…... I mean honour...to sit in. And it gave him no little satisfaction to know that James, whom Mycroft disliked a great deal, was being currently subjected to such agony.
So it really wouldn’t have been an issue (or at least not that great of an issue) if it hadn’t been for the fact that while Lord James was seated in his throne, the young lords’ sister, Lady Irene, was standing on the lower level of the podium, dictating law and rule to the commonwealth representatives, and in what appeared to be a most uncouth manner. Mycroft watched as she ordered her personal guard to manhandle one of the representatives (one of the Economists, if he wasn’t mistaken) out of the room. And by manhandle, he meant drag. And by out of the room, he meant off the balcony.
Thank goodness they were only ten feet off the ground.
“Was that quite necessary, Lady Irene?” Both Irene and James turned at the sound of the king’s voice, surprise clear on their faces before they wiped it away. Mycroft smirked internally and strode forwards, stopping only when he was towering over Lord James’s form.
“Milord, I had no idea you were—” Mycroft cut Irene off with a glare.
“Clearly. Now, Lady Irene, Lord James. I understand you are my advisers. I understand that you have value. You would agree, yes?”
Two pairs of dark brown eyes stared at him, both guarded.
“Yes, Milord.” Two voices answered, and Mycroft’s inner smirk grew.
“What I don’t understand, is how any of that translates into sitting on my throne and ordering my men and subjects around as if you, either of you, were anything more than advisers.”
Lord James sat up straighter in the throne, before standing up slowly and moving to the side. “We were only trying to be of assistance, Milord. It shouldn’t fall on you to have to deal with these.…. peasants.” This was said with a sneer, as Lord James gestured with one hand out to the small crowd of Mycroft’s subjects. His face changed from sneering to smiling in an instant, and he made a small bow before backing up a step further. “It was not our intention to… insult you, but only to aid and… advise.”
Mycroft eyed his adviser's smile, seeing how it didn’t reach his eyes, and did a double take. Was that something in his teeth? Stepping slightly closer, all the while pretending to listen to James’s diatribe, Mycroft Holmes stared in morbid fascination at what appeared to be a piece of greenery stuck between his advisor’s front teeth. Oh goodness, how… uncouth. With an internal grimace, and while idly wondering just how long that piece of greenery may have been there, Mycroft closed his eyes briefly and sighed.
“Was it?” He asked, opening his icy eyes to look first at James, then at Irene.
Irene’s gaze flicked quickly to her brother, before settling on the king, a slow smile curling her lips in a blatantly seductive manner.
“Why, yes Milord. We promise, it won’t happen again.” Lady Irene smiled flirtatiously at him, lashes fluttering. Lord James smiled again, before nodding.
Mycroft watched them for a moment longer, before letting his smirk show. Sitting down on the throne, he leaned back casually, and crossed one ankle over the other.
“Of course it won’t. You are both dismissed.”
Mycroft watched in satisfaction as two pairs of brown eyes widened in confusion, and Lady Irene asked, “Milord?”
“I’m… terribly sorry, Lady Irene, Lord James. But your services are no longer needed by me, or the kingdom. You are dismissed.”
“I’m not sure I understand…”
“How else can I phrase it? You're being let go.... your department's being downsized...we're going in a different direction. Think of it as a permanent displacement.”
“But Milord, surely you don’t mean—”
“Shut it, Irene. Of course he does, His Majesty never say’s things he doesn’t mean.” James muttered harshly to his sister, and her mouth shut with a snap. James turned towards the king, and the sneer was back in place.
“Milord, you should rethink your position on this issue. Our father, Prince Richard, will be most aggrieved to hear of our… treatment.”
Mycroft sat up straighter and leaned forwards, letting his gaze turn icy. “Your father, Lord James, is lucky to still be holding the title of Prince at all. It is through nothing but my family’s generosity that he still lay’s claim to the Moriarty and Brook estates at all. Now, I do hate to repeat myself, Lord James, but I believe in this case it may be paramount.”
Leaning forwards slightly more, Mycroft stared straight into James’s dark eyes and stated,
“You. Are. Dismissed.”