Marriage of Wits - Sherlock Holmes

To Drinks, Ballgowns, and Annoying Handome Detectives

Mycroft Holmes looked around 221B Baker Street, eyes scanning over the apartments state with a frown of great disapproval. The place was littered with a range of books and papers. Empty glasses covered every table in sight. Stray clothes were flung aimlessly onto the couches and what looked to be odd test tube samples were arranged on the dining table. There were odd clutters of junk everywhere: a telescope, violin, old tobacco pipe, a sword. So many random items that the apartment looked more like a pawn shop than a home.
"Sherlock this is the most uncivilised living compartment I have ever seen," Mycroft picks up a flask of some oddly smelling compound. He takes a whiff of its bitter aroma before placing it back on its stand, upon the glare his younger brother gave him.
"This place is just fine. Besides, I believe you're far too busy to drop by to simply check the interior design of my space. I'd prefer if you got straight to the point," Sherlock speaks, averting his attention back to his map of London. It was ridden with pieces of evidence with connecting strings, most pieces of thread leading to a post it note with the name Mira 'Moriarty' Troy written in thick black ink. The younger Holmes rolled up his sleeves with a sigh.
"I know you don't believe it, but I do concern myself of my siblings wellbeing,"
"You made that abundantly clear when you shipped Enola off to a boarding school she detested," The younger Holmes rolled up his sleeves with a sigh as he ponders over the map, muttering slightly to himself.
Unfazed by the lack of attention his brother was giving him, Mycroft continues. "That is beside the point. I will be blunt with you Sherlock. You spend half the time cooped up in this miserable apartment..." Sherlock throws Mycroft a glare but Mycroft disregards it. "...and the other half running around London on another case. Since our mother is gallivanting god knows where causing chaos with those...ideas of hers, it is my duty to ensure that our family maintains its image."
"The point please," Sherlock finally pulls his attention fully to Mycroft. Mycroft was usually far too persistent, so it was better to listen the first time in hopes to get rid of him quicker.
"Sherlock, you can't seriously think you can live the rest of your life like this. I believe it is high time you got married." Just like that Mycroft had lost Sherlocks interest. The younger went back to solving a cypher he had just discovered in a bank statement. "I know plenty of dignified and eligible women who would be more than happy to marry the world greatest detective."
"I'm not looking for a wife," Sherlock grumbles. Catching onto a clue in the bank statement he grabs an address book and begins to scan through it.
"You should be. You can't remain unmarried forever. It would bring our family name even more shame. Even Enola has been seeing that viscount. For once, thank heavens, making a good decision," Mycroft's pleas were falling on deaf ears. As he watched Sherlock continue to ignore him, he felt his jaw tense. "You are going to find a wife Sherlock. No arguments. Tonight at a gala I will begin to introduce you to some women. I'm even going to let you pick one yourself, so long as you do pick someone eventually,"
"I have cases to solve. I'm not interested in seeing women who will bore me to death," Sherlock takes a pen and quickly jots down an address. He then walks back over to his map and pins the bank statement and address to it. "17 Sherrylane Avenue. Interesting," He mutters.
"Not all women are boring," Mycroft thinks about his own wife, a sweet woman with good heart, probably back at home playing the piano. All Mycroft wanted was for Sherlock to understand the simplistic bliss of domestic life, just as he has.
"The ones you pick are,"
Mycroft sighes frustratedly. Perhaps a different approach to this would work. "Getting married helps make good connections. As a detective it would be valuable to integrate yourself that way into high class society,"
"I already am," Mentally Sherlock begins to plan out the next day. He'd pop a visit to the address he found, maybe pester Lestrade into handing him another case to keep himself busy. Perhaps he would also check on Enola, although he doubted she needed such constant supervision anymore.
"For the most part but you can do more by picking the right women. You could use this to your advantage. Gain new clients for bigger cases, find people to help endorse these little science experiments of yours. I'm sure you'll find it worth it in the long run. You'd be a fool for not at least trying this. Just at least meet the women," Mycroft pleads.
Sherlock turns to Mycroft. "If I meet them, will you leave me alone?"
"I will." Mycroft muscles twitch as he tries to hold back a grin. "And if you don't, I'll start sending people to your door every day to bother you about it,"
"Fine. I'll see you tonight," Mycroft leaves the apartment swiftly to avoid Sherlock thinking about reconsidering what he had agreed to. As soon as the door shut, Sherlock took a seat on his armchair, clasping his hands. He had a feeling he'd deeply detest himself tonight for agreeing to Mycroft's whims, but for now he needed some peace and quiet to think. 17 Sherrylane Avenue... Once an old government building dedicated to homeland security, now abandoned for the last decade, Sherlock recalls. What would be of interest to Moriarty there?