Mycroft liked to believe he was above such sentimental displays of emotion, but the Dementor's attack and dealing with its repercussions afterward had lingering effects that whittled down his usually staunch resolve. He smiled at Mary's appreciation of his furnishings, her impeccable taste being a reflection of his own; he would purchase a divider to give as a gift to Mary in the future.
The kettle on the stove began whistling, and Mycroft went to prepare the tea in a more traditional setting of bone china.
"I could suggest a name for your Fletchling," he said, confidently, "but that's a rather personal thing." Mycroft thought of it less as sentimentality, and more practicality. "The bond between the pokemon and its trainer is unique, so I've heard. Perhaps something will come to you?"