(no subject)

[the_government]

Punchmeitssubtext's last ficlet got me thinking if The Motherfucking Kween doesn't know Sherlock is alive, what if
what if
what if Mycroft doesn't know

"it would take Sherlock Holmes himself to fool me"
-------------------------

Doctor Watson,

The late Sherlock Holmes identified as a 'high-functioning sociopath." I don't know what moniker he bestowed upon me, except for perhaps "meddlesome git." I'd hoped one day he'd realize I was doing what I could to be a brother to him. He was always angry to have his intelligence surpassed. I would have changed that if i could. I know it meant more to him. But isn't that the curse of all younger siblings? To try to match the elder? To show that they're not second best in anything but age?

If my younger brother had only known how much I envied him. Not for anything he'd done, but for who he was. There's a curse to being the smarter one, not that he'd ever believe it.  I envied him the ability to be his irascible, irritating self, to have the freedom to whisk about in that ridiculous coat of his, to be so alive. Yes, there were times when he sunk to the very depths of human existence, but even his highs and lows seemed preferable to my immutable plateau.

The Virgin and the Ice-man, they called us. Better to be untouched (as a temporary condition) than to be forever untouchable.

I must say that at first, I thought he had something up his sleeve, one last remarkable feat of humanity and intelligence from my younger sibling. I confirmed the identity of the body in the mortuary, I knew if he had faked his own death it was important that I not let my supposition of his farce be known. I anticipated him to contact me within several days. I would have helped him hide, assisted his emigration, provided spies all over the world to track down Moriarty's men.

I have heard nothing from him.

And so, after three months, it is inevitable for me to accept that Sherlock Holmes is in fact, dead.  I have put money into his accounts, had my people in his most-traveled countries (France, the Czech Republic, India) on the lookout for him, diverted as many resources as possible in the search for him. The money remains untouched, report after report comes back in the negative. The possibility that he had survived and yet, that I have not found him becomes less and less likely as time progresses.

At some point in a eulogy, a person might share a heartwarming anecdote of the deceased's youth, and how they'll remain forever young in their memories. I regret to say I have no such memories of my brother. We did not play together, at least not in sense that people usually understand. I was seven years his senior, by the time he gained enough intelligence to be thought of as pleasant company, he had decided that I was his arch-enemy,  his competition. And I'm ashamed to say I did put him in his place without much care to his feelings. He claimed he doesn't have them, but both you and I know that's not quite true.

In closing, Doctor Watson, I hope this internet correspondence does not further grieve you. Although I know you, like my late brother, are loathe to accept my input and resources (indeed, that you often viewed them as an annoyance) It is nevertheless my duty to offer them to you freely. Whatever you may need, you have only to ask. Consider it a repayment for doing what I couldn't, for being someone Sherlock Holmes considered a loyal and valuable friend. In his partnership with you, I do believe he finally surpassed me as the better brother.

-Mycroft Holmes

Postscript - You shouldn't feel any obligation to reply, after all, without my brother to connect us we are quite strangers. Still, if you should ever want some quiet company, the doors of the Diogenes club are open to you. I am there quite often, having more free time than usual these days. -MH

Comments

[not_mydivision]

Lestrade had taken out his phone and stared at a certain number many times since That Day. It must be true...everything...but he still couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. There was one person who might know, but he couldn't quite bring himself to make contact; couldn't bear for that last impossible shred of hope to be torn away.

He took out his phone again and stared at Mycroft's number.

[txt]Mycroft, is it...[deleted]

[txt]Mr. Holmes...[deleted]

[txt]Look, it's a whale [deleted in a hurry; he'd been drunk]

What was there to say after all? "We're lost without your brother?" If he felt lost, what might Mycroft be feeling? Best to say nothing at all. So much to say and yet no words at all to say it with.

He pocketed his phone.

[the_government]

Mycroft usually skimmed the reports of London crime coming out of Scotland yard. After all, he was a busy man. And yet, when he saw the name "DI Gregory Lestrade" on one of them (the one that also mentioned "investigation at a standstill" and "no suspects arrested.") he frowned slightly. He put the report carefully back in the file, and spent a while staring out the beveled glass window at the distorted shapes of flowers and trees. If only...

When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror later, he didn't understand why the frown was still there.

[not_mydivision]

((ALSO THIS IS AMAZING AND YOU GUYS ARE DETERMINED TO MAKE ME CRY UGLY SOBS ALL DAY))

[punchmeitssubtext]

((a guy behind me at Carrie: The Musical was talking at intermission about how something he'd seen recently had him "Viola Davis ugly crying". THAT IS WHAT WE ARE ALL DOING))

[fighting_northumerland]

John has binned half a notebook's worth of paper before sitting down at his laptop. Mycroft would probably be too appalled by hotel stationary and biro to even read it

Mr. Holmes--

Mycroft

Look, I don't think I'm welcome back in the Diogenes Club after last time, and I don't think you'd really want me in there, either. It's not a place to hash things out in.

Sherlock thought more highly of you than he let on, possibly even more than you saw. Even if he knew what I know (he may have), it wouldn't be a strike against you in his book. He lived to tangle with Moriarty and similar bastards and you're probably the closest person to him in terms of insanity, and you come the closest to understanding how anyone enjoys that. He didn't hold grudges against people for playing the game he loved. If that's what you're worried about, then don't be.

If you talk to me again it had better be because you are buying me a drink. I don't want to hear anything else. He's dead, let him lie.

[the_government]

Mycroft read the email, marvelling at the Doctor's innate ability to put people at ease, to soothe hurts that weren't even medical. He didn't know fully what his brother had seen in John Watson, knew he would probably never have anyone like that in his own life, and yet, John was being kind to him, more than he expected, and more probably than he even deserved. He hit "reply to" and sent off a message before he could rationalize himself out of it

John
Doctor Watson,

I don't make a habit of frequenting pubs, but if you name the place, I will supply the Guinness. (If indeed that is your favorite and not just the most frequent drink you choose)

You could invite the Detective Inspector too, if you felt the inclination. I would not be opposed to speaking with him again.

Regards,
Mycroft

[fighting_northumerland]

John put his face against the desk, taking a moment before rising to reply

For the record, the spying is still creepy and at no point in the near future will it ever stop being creepy.

Of course Mycroft knew Greg. He probably has files on everyone Sherlock so much as glared at- or had...

That would be fine. Bring what you like- its mostly the same after a while.

Yes, regular lad's night with a policeman and Big Brother.

Re: your question!!

[punchmeitssubtext]

from: 234854505046580245@94.41.144.03

Sorry you missing for pharmaceutical discounts radio digital service silence herbal supplements expect through July visit live cams tonight no charge ten

Re: your question!!

[the_government]

Mycroft smiled, the first, genuine smile that had crossed his face in a long while. He knew Sherlock was on the run, and didn't want to risk a reply giving him away. He had probably already discarded the phone, or pickpocketed someone on the tube and replaced it. Instead, he pulled a role of masking tape from his desk drawer, and placed two crisscrossing strips of tape on the bottom right window.