Mycroft is, if anything, better at it than Sherlock is. Mycroft was born with the benefit of understanding, or at least some good semblance of it. He won out in the balance of brains and madness, by most standards. Not Sherlock's. Mycroft is joyless. Sherlock is mad, Sherlock is tormented, Sherlock grows bored, but he's capable of mental exultation, of joy, capable of perceiving beauty with an acuteness few share.
Mycroft, on the other hand, is cold. Always cold. Even his fondness is tired and mild and icy. So Sherlock will never admit, not ever, that his brother is cleverer than he is. Their areas of relative expertise diverge.
"Mm. Sort of. Brilliant, I suppose, but he's lazy." Prefers to make assumptions which, while good most of the time, are far from perfect. He understands people better, but he still gets them wrong. If not as often as Sherlock does, then at least more severely.
And then there's how he manipulates. Why try to match when one can simply threaten?
"Suppose he can be. He's..." Less mad? More normal? "... different."
no subject
Mycroft, on the other hand, is cold. Always cold. Even his fondness is tired and mild and icy. So Sherlock will never admit, not ever, that his brother is cleverer than he is. Their areas of relative expertise diverge.
"Mm. Sort of. Brilliant, I suppose, but he's lazy." Prefers to make assumptions which, while good most of the time, are far from perfect. He understands people better, but he still gets them wrong. If not as often as Sherlock does, then at least more severely.
And then there's how he manipulates. Why try to match when one can simply threaten?
"Suppose he can be. He's..." Less mad? More normal? "... different."