AN: This is the first of a list of short story prompts currently waiting patiently in my 'to write' folder. I can't make any predictions whatsoever on when I'll update, so I hope you will bear with me.
First prompt: In which Mycroft cries. I know, it's not really crying as well the cause of it, but hey, this was hard enough, all right? Imagine, the Ice Man reduced to tears..
The melting Ice Man
By day, he is the Ice Man. Cool as a cucumber, with the shark-like smile and impeccable suit that will never shout it out but do politely whisper power. He stands tall and self-assured, making anyone else in turn feel small, unimportant, weak. That is what he does, that is what his job is all about: making people feel intimidated so they will do what you need them to do.
He never gets involved, never gets attached, always remains distant. No sentiment. They will serve only to distract and destruct, he knows that. He only allows himself the small ones -the flicker of a smile, a dissapproving glare, an exasperated sigh- when they are of use to him. After all, he won't let himself be distracted, but if someone else will, by all means, go ahead. Be his guest. He is in control of his emotions like a puppet player, pulling each string precisely when he means to.
That is during the day. During the night, the Ice Man melts.
Not every night, fortunately. Most nights he sleeps the sleep of the just, and he is as surprised as anyone would be, if they ever found out.
Some nights, however, are different. They are bad. During these nights, the strings are snatched out of his puppet master hand and taken over by someone else, someone buried dark and deep and far away.
To put it bluntly: the British Government has nightmares.
Not your normal kind of nightmares, mind you. A normal nightmare is just a very unpleasant dream that makes no sense at all (chased by a cauliflower, eaten by dark blue goo, etc.), and are easily laughed away in the morning. No, these are the other kind of nightmares, the realistic ones that dig into your subconcious, find the right buttons and start pressing them until there is nothing left but fear and tears. The dreams that say: You are alone.
Or: No one loves you.
Or: He is dead.
Or: You will die.
Or: Remember this?
The dream of the Ice Man says no such thing. There is only one thing that can melt him, reduce him to tears, real, genuine tears and it's this.
What Mycroft Holmes sees during those long, dreadful nights are his father, his mother and his little brother saying what he knows is true and what will be forever ringing in his head: You were not there when needed you. We asked you to help us. You were my son, my brother and you should have come to us, but you left us. You abandoned us. You were not there.
The most terrifying part of this? It is all completely true. He never cared much about his father's wish that he take over the family business. He left his mother and Sherlock on their own when his father died, to busy climbing the ranks behind the scenes of Downing Street. He set a criminal mastermind loose after his brother, forcing him to burn all his ships behind him and literally fall into disgrace.
The nightmares have every right to be there. But only during the night. By day, he will remain cold and distant. Like an Ice Man ought to be.