The procedure that was ignored as often as possible by Sherlock could be a particular comfort to Mycroft, especially if one regarded it as an option instead of the necessity that so many unimaginative individuals mistook it for. Until circumstance conspired. Although perhaps even then there was always an alternative. Even if it was the inconceivable choice.
It was a card Mycroft used most proficiently as a sleight of hand in moves that even Sherlock found hard to grasp on occasion. If Sherlock would only desist in his stubborn prejudices he might be a force to be reckoned with, but as it was… Mycroft always did his upmost not to think of the good Doctor Watson as a childminder.
Sherlock needed his help, today. Mycroft did not delude himself that there were any other possible reasons for his involvement. Processing a dead body that was not, in fact, dead required paperwork, and paperwork Mycroft could provide. Molly Hooper helped, but there was only so much that the poor infatuated girl could do at such short notice.
Even now in the morgue Sherlock was being difficult despite, or perhaps because of the urgency of the situation. “John. You must look after John,” a breath, “please.”
Mycroft paused, placing a hand over the microphone of his phone before he replied, “Of course, brother.”