A/N: For some reason, FanFiction doesn't recognize "Better Call Saul" as a category. So, for those who aren't aware, Jimmy McGill is Saul Goodman's real name, and if you want more details on him and his brother, Chuck, watch the show. It's awesome.
Miami, Florida, Spring 1997.
A yellow taxi slowly made its way through traffic to Miami International Airport. The driver, a gregarious man accustomed to chatting with his passengers, found himself in the uncomfortable position of having to studiously ignore the two young men in the backseat. The brothers' argument went beyond the usual sibling rivalry; these men knew how cut each other to the quick. (And I thought a couple of British guys would be an easy fare.)
Mycroft Holmes snarled, "For God's sake, Sherlock, do you have any idea how worried Mummy has been? How worried I've been?"
"Yes, how dare I do any harm to your precious image," Sherlock snorted with a roll of his eyes. "Otherwise, you might not run the government until after your 30th birthday, and then you'd be a failure!"
"That's not what I'm angry about and you know it!" Mycroft barked. "You start using again then swan off to America, don't speak to us for months, and you have the audacity to be insulted that your family worried about you! We all thought you were dead in a ditch until we heard about the Hudson case!"
"Yes, and I'm sure it did your heart so much good to hear that I've been associating with more drug dealers and lowlifes," Sherlock replied in a smug tone.
"I was glad that you were safe," Mycroft sighed. "And you're very lucky I'm here to rescue you, what with your expired visa! You could easily have been deported were it not for my connections!"
"And you'll never let me forget it either," Sherlock spat.
The cab pulled up to the airport, and as the Holmes boys departed, Sherlock began humming "God Save the Queen," which elicited a look of utter disgust from Mycroft. For the first time in his life, the cab driver found himself grateful to have five sisters.
The Holmes brothers passed through security and took seats in the first-class lounge in stony silence. The lounge was mercifully empty – one of the perks of taking an early flight – and the quiet was music to Mycroft's ears. He opened up the Financial Times while Sherlock began reading a chemistry journal, a snarl etched upon the younger brother's face.
A few minutes later, Mycroft glanced up from his newspaper to see two other men enter the lounge and sit at the opposite end of the room. The elder appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties and wore an impeccable suit and well-polished wingtips. The other man was eight to ten years younger and wore grungy cargo pants, beat-up sandals, and a T-shirt clearly purchased at a beachfront souvenir shop. Neither appeared happy to be there. (Brothers. The elder is a lawyer and the younger a petty criminal, undoubtedly up to no good in Miami and the elder is tasked with bringing him home. Gods, it's the American version of us.) Mycroft continued to read while keeping one ear on the brothers.
Chuck McGill upbraided his younger brother as quietly as he could. "Mom has been so worried about you! Her ulcer's acting up and she's hardly slept since you left! Couldn't you have at least called?"
"Aw come on, Chuck, it's Spring Break! Don't be a buzzkill," Jimmy pouted.
"One, you're not in college anymore, and two, Spring Break doesn't last a month! Hell, when the sheriff's office called, even I was afraid you were dead!"
"Nah, if I died you'd feel a disturbance in the Force, as if the universe had suddenly become a million percent less awesome," Jimmy joked.
As the McGill boys continued bickering, Sherlock stalked off in the direction of the loo. Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother's retreating form. (At least he wouldn't have got past security with drugs.)
Chuck continued, "I mean really, you're thirty years old! You can't be Slippin' Jimmy forever!"
Jimmy protested, "I just needed a little R&R! You know how rough the whole thing with Jenny was."
Chuck sighed. His brother was using that puppy dog expression that worked so well on their mother but had never worked on him. Chuck might have had a modicum of sympathy if Jimmy had done this after his second divorce, when his wife ran off with their stepfather, but not now. The third divorce had been just as acrimonious as the second one, but this time the blame was clearly on Jimmy's shoulders.
Chuck fumed at his brother for a moment and then huffed, "This is getting us nowhere. Let's just try to relax before the plane leaves."
Jimmy assented and then excused himself to the men's room. Once inside, he leaned up against the tile wall and dug a flask out of the pocket of his cargo pants. He heard a familiar snorting sound coming from the stalls and smiled to himself.
When the young man who'd been the source of snorting emerged, Jimmy raised his flask and said, "I won't tell your brother if you don't tell mine."
"If that's your idea of asking for some cocaine, your begging skills need considerable work," Sherlock rumbled.
Jimmy waved his hand. "Nah, that stuff turns me into the Incredible Hulk, and 3 hours on a plane with Chuck pisses me off enough. The only way to get through it is to get some sleep so that I don't have to listen to him lecture me."
Sherlock looked at him askance. "How did you know I'm with my brother?"
Jimmy snickered. "Dude, it's all over your face. That face? That's the face I have every time Chuck drags me away from something fun." After a brief pause, he added, "So I have to ask: how did you get that stuff past security?"
"It's easy if you're not an idiot," Sherlock huffed, and flounced out.
Jimmy watched in bewilderment for a moment before diving back into his flask. (Who pissed in his cornflakes?)
When his brother was gone, Chuck rubbed the bridge of his nose and muttered, "Why do I even try anymore?"
Chuck pretended to read the Wall Street Journal as he pondered his own question. (Because Mom's been through enough lately. Because Jimmy was always her favorite and she has no one else now that Roy ran off with Cindy. Because an attorney with a brother in prison is too big a scandal for any firm to take a risk on.)
Mycroft wasn't asked for his opinion and won't offer it, but answers to that question flood his mind. (Because Sherlock doesn't understand how dangerous the world is. Because Mummy would never forgive me if I didn't. Because I would never forgive myself if I allowed him to come to serious harm. Because everyone else on Earth is a goldfish.)
Mycroft looked up from his rumination and saw Sherlock sashay back into the lounge with pupils blown and nose running. (Oh for God's sake!) He gritted his teeth as Sherlock flopped down with a smirk on his face.
The elder Holmes hissed, "How did you get it past security?"
"Can't reveal all my secrets," Sherlock whispered smugly. "Suffice it to say, they're exceedingly lax."
Chuck glanced over at the two young men on the far side of the room having a whispered argument. His gut told him that they were brothers, and a mention of "Mummy" confirmed his impression. The younger one was in his late teens and fidgeted as if he were high. (At least Jimmy isn't doing that anymore...) The elder, who looked to be about Jimmy's age, had a distinct undertone of concern in his voice. Chuck couldn't remember the last time he'd used that tone on his brother.
Just then, Jimmy loped back into the room and sank into the chair next to Chuck, an easy grin on his face. "All the news that's fit to print?"
"That's the New York Ti- wait, have you been drinking already?" Chuck demanded.
"So what? I'm a big boy."
Chuck rolled his eyes. "For crying out loud, it's not even 7 AM yet!"
"Hair of the dog, man!"
The lawyer glanced at his watch and sighed, "Nevermind. We should get going; our gate's on the other side of the concourse."
As Chuck walked out of the lounge, his eyes met Mycroft's. Both men regarded each other with an expression that said, "I know exactly how you feel."
Several hours later and thirty-five thousand feet above the Atlantic Ocean, Mycroft was taking a nap, or rather, attempting to take a nap while the toddler two rows back threw a tantrum. (What sort of idiot takes a child that age on a flight this long?) The expression on his face morphed from anger to horror as Sherlock got up and strode over to the wailing babe. (Can he not go one day without making a scene?) Mycroft unbuckled his seat belt, preparing yet again to leap up and haul baby brother out of a jam.
Sherlock bent down and whispered something in the girl's ear, and to the utter shock of everyone on the plane, she immediately clammed up. He then glided back to his seat and stretched out with cat-like contentment.
"What on Earth did you say to her?" Mycroft whispered, astounded.
With a smirk, Sherlock replied, "I told her that children who misbehave on aeroplanes have to ride in the lavatory."
The corners of Mycroft's mouth turned up. "I seem to recall that worked on you."
"And cousin Steven," Sherlock reminded him, and the two of them almost smiled at each other.
That evening, Chuck knocked on their mother's front door, Jimmy standing next to him with a remorseful expression. (And if it's genuine, I'll eat my hat.) Mrs. McGill opened the door and immediately threw her arms around Jimmy as she ushered him inside. Chuck forced a smile and stepped in, closing the door behind him. Mom insisted on making them tea, and he sat there and sipped while his brother gave a watered-down explanation of what he'd been doing in Florida. He was tempted to tell her truth later, but decided against it. The last few years had not been kind to Mom and he realized that his boisterous Irish mother had become a fragile old woman. (I can't let her know what's really going on. It would kill her.)
He spent an hour or so in the kitchen with Mom and Jimmy before he claimed to be worn-out from the trip and trudged off to his childhood bedroom. After shrugging off his suit jacket, tie, and shoes, he stretched out on the too-small bed and stared at the ceiling. Out in the kitchen, Mom laughed merrily at whatever fish story Jimmy was telling her. The scene playing out – responsible elder son alienated, dissolute younger son rewarded – reminded him of the Biblical story of the Prodigal Son. (Sister Margaret said we were supposed to take the fuck-up's side. Crap like that is why I quit going to church.)
(How many more times will life kick Jimmy in the ass before he finally gets it together?) He sighed and reminded himself that life could kick Jimmy from now until eternity and he'd still be Slippin' Jimmy. Chuck thought his little brother would reform with his first arrest, then college, then his first marriage, his first divorce, turning 25, his second marriage, his second divorce. Now Jimmy was 30 and on his third divorce and showed no signs of change.
Chuck let out another angry huff and then changed into his pajamas and turned off the light. (Jimmy will be dead or in prison before he turns 35 and there's nothing I can do about it.) As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was that he hoped that neither of those things would happen while their mother was still alive.
A/N:The title of this story comes from a quote from King Solomon: "A friend loveth at all times and a brother is born for adversity."
If you're wondering how Jimmy's flask got past security, back in the '90s it was OK to take liquids on an airplane. As for Sherlock's cocaine... well, he's Sherlock. ;)