Another one for an arbitrary-aubergine prompt: “3. Mycroft’s car breaks down in the countryside. There are cows and/or sheep.”  This is all I’m giving you, too. Also: bulls are not cows. Bulls are males, and have horns. And you usually don’t have more than one, although you might have quite a few cows, which are the girls who give milk. Got it? Ok.

-=-=-=-=-

“There’s a tree.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “You do know about GPS. I don’t need a description of where you are in order to find you.”

“The tree doesn’t alarm me.”

“So something does.” Greg’s voice was on the verge of a laugh now.

“There are animals.” Another sound on the other end of the line. It wasn’t meant to be recognizable, but Mycroft knew all of the sub-verbal noises that Greg used. “Large animals.”

“What, like a bear? Maybe a lion?”

Mycroft ignored the fact that he was being teased. Proximity to large animals was distasteful enough. “Cows.”

“They scary?”

“The one with horns in the next field might be.”

“No, no,” Greg said quickly. “Stay with the car.”

“I am.”

“Are you inside it?”

Mycroft looked at the field across the top of the car. “No. There is only so long I can sit in a hot car.”

“But what about the scary cows?”

“They will have to take their chances.”

“Do they look like they’re willing to risk it?”

Mycroft turned to face the animals, his back against the door of the car. “Risk it in what way?”

“Pick a fight with you. I don’t know. What do scary cows do?”

“If you mean a rutting bull charging with its head lowered, I don’t think I need to explain. Unless you are far more stupid than I have ever thought.”

“Good God, stay in the car!”

“I didn’t say it was charging,” Mycroft said calmly. “I was answering what, in your words, ‘scary cows do.’”

“It’s not charging?” 

“Not as yet. Not even in sight.”

“Then how do you know there is one?” Greg asked, exasperated.

“Because I drove past it five minutes ago.”

He heard Greg take a deep breath, making a show of striving for patience. Mycroft pushed his back closer against the car, staring into the large brown eyes in front of him with distaste. “But right now, you’ve just got cows. No bulls. Nothing with horns. They’ve all got udders, yes?”

“You were born in London,” he sighed. “What do you expect me to do, frisk them?”

“Just look!”

“Basic animal husbandry, Greg. You do not keep the bull in the same field as the cows.”

“Oh, so now you’re all fine with the big scary animals?” Greg’s voice was now full of the sarcasm he used right before giving up. 

“We are not going to become friends. I would still wish to be elsewhere.” He raised his leg, setting the flat of his foot against the animal’s shoulder and pushing. It didn’t budge, but did raise its head and turn to look at him, and made a loud sound. “Oh, stop,” Mycroft told it.

“What the hell was that?” Greg gasped. “Are you sitting on an air-raid siren?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Did I not mention the cows?”