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Description: The third part in a series after Sullen and Morose* One year after the death of her mother Isabelle returns to her hometown, and of course, to the old park bench. Except this time it's already occupied, and by someone rather familiar. (Pre-MycroftxOC or only friendship if you prefer)

Dour-

Isabelle left the house while still pulling on her hat, scarf, and gloves. The cold air immediately bit at her unprotected nose, turning it the color of a ripened tomato. Shoving her hands into her pockets Isabelle started to walk South, towards the park. She tried to keep her bare wrists from the cold air, using a coat that had fit her a few months ago but she had since outgrown. The walk was, as she predicted, long and treacherous with snow attempting to make its way past her scarf and into her boots. After a short time the park came into view. The snow on the walkway had not been shoveled at all so Isabelle was forced to wade through five and a half inches of it to reach her ultimate destination. Rubbing a gloved hand across her nose which had begun to run, she spied the bench. Though first, she noticed the footsteps leading up to it. Someone with feet about as long as hers and a heavier tread.

A dark figure sat serenely against the newly restored parkbench, their short brown hair blowing in the breeze as well as the edges of their coat. Isabelle felt disappointment drown her. Of course! Of course she would have to go out at the exact same time as- hold it. Trudging forwards a few more steps Isabelle realized that she recognized the figure! Something clogged her throat uncomfortably. It couldn't be… She hugged her arms as she continued her slog, the cold finally seeping into her somewhat tight fitting boots. The figure became more and more recognizable the closer she came until finally she could see the entire side of his face and she knew that her assumption had been right.

"Hi Michael."

A pair of rather startled grey eyes turned upon her and Isabelle smiled weakly. His long nose and unprotected ears were just as pink as hers, she noted. She also noted that through a gap in his open jacket he wore a three piece suit that looked to cost more than anything she'd ever owned, his well shined (equally expensive looking) shoes poking up from the white fluff at their feet. Michael managed his own tight smile, "Isabelle, a pleasure," he greeted, "Would you care to join me?"
"Only if it's ok, I don't want to i-intrude or-"
"No, no, perfectly alright," he hummed almost impatiently, "If I minded I wouldn't have offered." Apparently he had little tolerance for good manners. Isabelle shrugged her narrow shoulders, "Thank you I guess," she said in reply. With one gloved hand she pushed fallen snow off the seat and to the ground, the liquid melting and soaking into the fabric. She hissed, annoyed with herself for doing something so patently stupid before she turned and landed with an audible thump onto the now snow free space. Michael's smile became more genuine, though also more amused. Isabelle blushed, tucking her hands between her thighs to return warmth.

After a moment Isabelle gathered enough courage to say, "I had no idea you would be here!" her hazel eyes opened wide at the realization, "I thought you said y-you were going to London," she shifted so that she partially faced him. Michael nodded, "I did, and am gainfully employed as I had also hoped. Infact I am here on...business," he cleared his throat which meant "business" was a loose and probably entirely inaccurate description, " I should point out that I could say the same for you."
Isabelle nodded, "We moved too…" she swallowed thickly as the past few years bubbled up in her memory, "But we also had uh, business, so we came back. I guess it's just a coincidence we found each other," she grinned, her teeth freezing immediately. The tall man beside her snorted most inelegantly, mumbling something beneath his breath. Isabelle didn't quite hear it but thought she caught the words "Rarely" and "Lazy".
"I will admit," Michael said after another pause, "I had almost hoped that you would be here waiting for me. Considering our last encounters."
"Yeah, I kind of did too," Isabelle admitted, "I'm glad it actually happened." With one elbow she bumped it against his side which made Michael squawk with something between indignance and laughter. Amused by the huffy expression the young woman giggled in a most unladylike fashion. Goodness but it felt like she hadn't laughed in years!

A cold breeze consumed the two figures, delicately shading their cheeks and blowing dark hairs away from pale faces. Isabelle shivered, shoulders stiffening as the cold seeped into her thin body. Beside her Michael sucked in air through his teeth, "Oh yes, I'd forgotten," he said confusingly. Reaching into the depths of his dark coat his pale hand circled around something bulky which he removed with a secretive smile. Isabelle stared at the object with one eyebrow raised incredulously. A thermos. "Wha-?" she breathed, the air leaving in a visible puff. Michael twisted off the top and offered the thermos to her. Isabelle accepted it with a hasty "I uh, thank you!" before she lifted the item towards her mouth and caught a distinctive scent. "Hot chocolate," she grinned. Steam rose and wreathed her face, defrosting her chilled nose and ears. "I had of course, considered tea. But then I recalled our previous meetings and could not resist the opportunity, should you actually appear," his thin lips quirked into a crooked, oddly self-conscious smile. It occurred to Isabelle at that moment how self assured he had been in every moment previous. All those years before Isabelle could recall Michael being uncomfortable, maybe a little sad. But now he sat with an air of superiority and confidence. She wished that she could share that same feeling. Her thin lips connected with the edge of the thermos and she tilted it towards her mouth, ignoring the sudden bubbling sensation in her stomach when she considered Michael having taking a drink before her. It was, after all, half empty (or half full).

The flavor was that of pure chocolate. Like drinking the bar, only far less thirst inducing. Isabelle took down two large gulps, burning her mouth. She let her eyes flutter shut and a pleasured hum escape her. She let the item settle onto her lap, "That's amazing." Michael nodded, "It is quite good isn't it," he replied smoothly, not looking at her. She took the opportunity to wipe her mouth with her sleeve.
"May I ask, what brings you out here in such horrific weather?" Michael asked her, offering her a square kerchief from his pocket- apparently he had noticed her cleaning technique. I could ask you the same question Isabelle's mind supplied, though she didn't voice it. Not yet anyways. She knew how the game was played at this point. He asked questions she answered them, she asked questions he wouldn't answer them. Still, she would probe him for information because she cared enough to do so. Isabelle's gaze landed on her hands, still circling the thermos. She swallowed, "I-I uh, needed to get out of the house…"
"Your siblings?" Michael questioned further, crossing one elegantly long leg over the other. Isabelle sucked in a breath that froze her lungs, "Yeah, kind of. They were bringing some of their friends in and I-I didn't want to get in the way…" she lifted a hand to brush stray chestnut hairs away from her face. The man beside her hummed disapprovingly, "At their suggestion," he didn't ask. She frowned, "Well, yeah. But it's not like they forced me out of the house!" she protested. He snorted, "Oh, I'm sure."

Fighting the urge to cry out with sudden anger Isabelle instead clenched her teeth, "It's the least I could do."

"Izzy, we're having a few friends over-"
Isabelle had looked up from her book and smiled, "Yeah? Trish and- uh, Leanne right?" she recalled them hanging around both Maria and Gloria when they were children. Maria snorted, "Yep. Oh my God, I remember how you used to stick to us like a leech."
"Pathetic," Gloria entered the room, "So the point we're making Iz, is that we don't want a leech here when they get here. Got it?"
Isabelle nodded vigorously, "Yes!" she yelped, springing to her feet. "I'll hide out in my room-"
"What? No, we want you out of the house," Gloria snapped impatiently.

"B-but where would I go? It's freezing outside-"

"All the better. You could stand to suffer a little hardship for once."

Finding her way back to the present hour Isabelle found herself under Michael's searching stare. She blushed, "I've been kind of a burden lately," she cleared her throat in explanation. She felt stupid and small despite their height similarity. Being, after all, a silly sixteen year old girl! And he was… twenty? Twenty one? She bit her bottom lip hard, as chapped as it was from the cold it split and a light trickle of blood spilled into her mouth. "Burdensome to your siblings? How so?" At that moment Isabelle realized that he already knew the answer. It was clear in his grey eyes what he was thinking. Still she allowed a pained gasp to escape, "Because my mum died!" it came out angrier than she'd intended, "They have to take care of me. So yes, coming outside and talking to you is probably a small sacrifice," she nearly stood up, energy surging through her. Until she remembered the thermos still tucked safely atop her lap and the suddenly earnest expression that briefly flashed across Michael's previously sour face. He opened his mouth as though to same something, but then closed it. Huh, she'd silenced him. Isabelle rubbed at a watery eye, "It was last year actually, but that's why we came here. We had her buried here a-and we wanted to visit her grave so…" she shrugged her narrow shoulders.

"I see."

Brow furrowed Isabelle took another sip of the heavenly chocolate, letting her temper cool. Her emotions were always muddled, but it seemed Michael brought them out better than anything else. She still felt ridiculous, especially when he extended a hand and took her slim arm in it. She felt him squeeze gently, then he released and let the gloved article fall to his lap. All that was missing was the awkward "There, there"!
"We were going to come in the spring, but we got a deal on the plane tickets," Isabelle continued in a more lighthearted tone, "And we rented our old house from the new residents who went to visit relatives for the week. I'm uh, going back home tomorrow."
"Hm," Michael said intelligently. He looked out at the playground, buried in snow. Isabelle followed suit, smiling crookedly. "I wish I could be a kid again. Even for a day," she huffed, "I don't think I like this whole teenager ordeal," she shot a smirk at Michael. He raised an eyebrow, "I wouldn't. Ghastly business, childhood."
Isabelle couldn't help it, she laughed. The sound was so loud in the otherwise serene space that she was forced to clamp a hand over her mouth to quiet it. Michael let out his own low key chuckle, breathy and meaningless.

Recovering with very little success Isabelle lifted up the thermos with her other hand, "You didn't drug this did you?" she giggled. The tall man beside her shook his head, "Of course not," he pursed his lips in consideration, "Though I suppose I wanted to this would be a good moment to do so. Having built up your trust of course."
"Oh, right. I suppose if anything you'd poison it. I do trust you though," she added, earnestly. Michael's cheeks reddened, though it was hard to tell in the cold. "Must you make every moment so serious?" he demanded lightheartedly. "Me? What about you?" Isabelle scoffed, elbowing him again. The action sent tingles up her arm and her heart fluttered. Boys. Ug. The two of them were only friends for goodness sake, not to mention the age difference. Still she couldn't hide the secret desire inside of her to fall into a kiss with this gentleman or whatever else- if only for the warmth being near him would provide. In her head she cursed her teenaged hormones and moved on.
"I uh, I wanted to ask by the way- because I always do- what you're doing here?" Isabelle sipped absent mindedly again at the drink. Michael huffed, "Family."

"Oh."

How simple. Isabelle slid her feet beneath the seat, the tips of her boots buried in the snow. "Just a visit?" she inquired. She almost wished it had been something more serious, if only to take the sting out of her own problem. It was incredibly selfish of her to think, still, think she did. "Yes," he tilted his head upwards, a snowflake landing on his cheek. Of course. More snow. Isabelle leaned forward and tilted her head, "Really, really?" she smirked. Michael grimaced, "Alright, it is a birthday celebration that I felt compelled to attend-"
"Who's? Sh- uh, your brothers?" Isabelle wasn't quite sure what his name had been. Sheldon? Sherrinford? "Sherlock," Michael filled in the blank for her. A second's hesitation told her he was about to lie and she cut him off,
"It's not yours is it?"
Silence.
"Ohmygosh happy birthday!" Isabelle sprang to her feet then, ensuring that the thermos remained firmly in her grip for fear of losing all the deliciousness. She circled Michael so that she stood in front of him, both hands clasped about the object in front of her and her overly long (reaching nearly to her rear) chestnut braid falling heavily over her shoulder. The tall man looked rather startled by her exuberance. She couldn't help it. She was naturally exuberant.

"Thank you Isabelle," he supplied dutifully, swiping a hand down his thigh to remove imaginary wrinkles from the expensive fabric. "I wish I had a present to give you," the young woman continued, "uh, here," she thrust the thermos out to him. Michael sighed through his mouth and accepted it, swiping his fingers along the edge to be rid of her cooties before he took a light sip from it. Pulling at one of her too-short sleeves, something occurred to Isabelle. "But, if it's your birthday why are you out here?" it sounded joking, which worked well. Though the response she got in return was not, "Because there is only so much one person can bear."
"What?" Isabelle frowned at him, brow furrowing. Michael put up a hand, "Of course I appreciate the effort they put into the whole ordeal, as rarely as something like this occurs. It is just that I would much rather converse with you than discuss anything with my dull parents and petulant brother," he quirked his mouth into a sour smirk.

What?!

Fully aware that her moods were swinging back and forth like a pendulum Isabelle burst forth indignantly, "That's terrible!"
"Mm, I know. If I wanted family time I would have ask-"
"Not that!" Isabelle interrupted, using both her hands to make her point as she talked, "Your family wanted to spend some time with you on your birthday and instead you're out here?" she gestured to their snowy frowned, "I thought you enjoyed our chats," he dismissed. That of course infuriated her further. "You didn't even know I was coming! I love talking to you, I promise," she assured quickly whilst still in full swing, "But I think that anyone that still has their parents should enjoy them while they're there! That's so- That's so rude!" She crossed her arms in front of her, tears forming in her eyes. Michael stood up, forcing her to step back with the intensity of his gaze, "I do not need a lecture from a self-pitying child," he practically snarled, his tone still calm enough to come off as purely conversational. Stung, Isabelle shook her head, "I'm not a child," was all she could come up with. They stood in silence for a good long moment. Isabelle wanted to make a run for it but found her feet rooted to the ground.

Michael ran a pale, long fingered hand over his dark hair and sighed. "Apologies." he said in almost a whisper. Isabelle looked at him with watery hazel eyes, "It's...it's no problem," she choked out, "I still think you should go home and spend time with your mum."
His long nose wrinkled at the base, "My mother is not like yours," he exhaled, "I doubt anyone is." The condescension was not lost on Isabelle, but she let it slide. "She was one of a kind. Incredible, smart, beautiful, kind," she resisted the urge to count off of her fingers, "I wish I'd done more." Weeks spent in the hospital, pacing in the halls then sitting on uncomfortable chairs by her bedside. There were so many things she could- no, should have done. "It's not fair to be ungrateful," she added, shivering from both the cold and the conversation topic. Michael tsked, "Mm, yes. That has worked out so well for you."

"I don't want to argue about this!" Isabelle practically pleaded, "I just- I just wanted to talk. But I don't think we ever can without doing or saying something wrong," she hugged herself tightly, "I-I should go visit my mum's grave again before it gets too late anyway."
Michael nodded, shoving one hand into his trouser pocket. The other he rather sullenly (morosely, dourly) held out the thermos, "Take it," he commanded. Isabelle did as he asked, holding it to her. "Y'know, I still have your umbrella," she managed a faint smile. Michael blinked, "Oh?" he too managed a barely there, though highly genuine, smile. "It's a shame I won't ever be able to return it to you. Especially since I don't have a present for your birthday."

"Keep it," he waved a hand dismissively, "I'm sure you will need it more than I will. To shield you from the rain," his tone became sombre.

"Goodbye again Michael," Isabelle said, wanting to cry.

He mumbled something just then. Isabelle couldn't cat all of it "-'s roft", the low lilt of his voice making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "What?" she asked. Michael turned away from her, "Not important. Goodbye Isabelle."

Mycroft returned home, out of breath and freezing. He immediately shrugged off his coat, and gloves. Keeping his soaked shoes on for sake of appearances. The warmth of the kitchen consumed him and he allowed a pleasant sigh to pass between stiffly parted lips. Well, it had happened again hadn't it. Isabelle had come and gone. Certainly he never indulged in the idea of luck, but this time… What were the chances?
He wished that he hadn't insulted her, he did dearly want her to think well of him. Brow furrowed the young man attempted rather ludicrously to figure out why. Why on earth did she hold his attention so? Shrugging it, and her, off for the third and perhaps last (though at this point, how could he believe that?) time Mycroft sighed.

On the kitchen table sat the half eaten birthday cake. His mother had described it as chocolate fudge cake which had to have about a thousand or so calories in each bite. Mycroft had received only one present from both his parents, three tickets to see a show coming up in a few months. The agony. Walking past the table he scooped a sizeable hunk of thick chocolate frosting off the edge of the cake with one finger and stuck it into his mouth. The flavor melted over his tongue as he left the kitchen to find the living room where a fire had been started in the fireplace. He was greeted pleasantly by both his parents, his mother reading and his father attempting to start a nap. Pulling his finger out of his mouth and feeling much like a child, Mycroft inquired, "Where has Sherlock gone off to?"
"His room dear," Mrs. Holmes sighed, flipping a page of her book, "And where were you?" she demanded in an annoyingly motherly tone. Mycroft thought of lying but then also thought of Isabelle's upset expression and decided against it, "I went out to the old park and saw an old friend," he supplied. Mr. Holmes' eyes sprang open to match the surprised expression of his wife. "Friend?" the woman asked. With the roll of his eyes Mycroft said as though speaking to children, "Mmm yes, of sorts." He made towards the stairs, hesitating. Mrs. Holmes offered a still incredulous, "Goodnight dear." Knowing full well that he would not be going to sleep anytime soon within his room.

Instead, and much to their further surprise, Mycroft took a book off the shelf and turned back around to sit on the sofa beside his mother.

Thinking of Isabelle's crooked grin were she to see him, Mycroft allowed himself to smile at the pages.

Inspired by Red- er, Ellis Jenkin's review of Morose asking for another one of these. I hope this is to your satisfaction Lol

If you feel that this is out of character for Isabelle I beg you to reread ALWTH, because she's a very emotional person when she wants (or rather, doesn't want) to be. Haha, poor Mycroft never stood a chance.
Tell me what you think (OOC at all?) and point any typos if you want to! X)

-Please Review