Oh, Sherlock. What have you done?
His own voice was only a distant echo as he descended the dreary flight of stairs that led to the underground fortress that was his mind palace.
Pain. Compassion. Failure. None of those emotions could touch him there; nothing would ever breach the impenetrable walls he raised as a defence against sentiments.
He needed to keep a cool head if he wanted to help his brother. His brother, the only human being he cared about even against his better judgement.
'It's not my fault, Myc,' the spoilt brat whined in his head. For he always pictured him as a child, the child that had been the torment – but also the secret delight – of his teenage years.
He berated himself for opening that door again. There was a precise reason why he kept this particular room locked; it was his heart place, the secret vault where he confined everything that was transport and therefore extremely dangerous.
'Come on, Myc. Let's play a game,' the boy pleaded, tugging at his sleeve.
'Not now, Sherlock,' he huffed in frustration. 'Can't you see that I'm busy?'
Focus, Mycroft. There has to be a way out of this sorry mess, and you have to find it.
However, little Sherlock stubbornly refused to take no as an answer. 'Let's play trust fall. You catch me first.'
That was something they had actually done more than once, with mixed results. Sherlock had the silly habit of letting himself fall at the most unexpected moments, relying in his brother's fast reflexes – though they weren't fast enough on at least a couple of occasions, which had resulted in some nasty bruises for the reckless little boy. Mycroft, on the other hand, had always found the experience rather unpleasant; he knew he was too heavy for his little brother, and never really trusted him completely with his full weight.
His arms instinctively supported the young rascal as he dropped backwards, and a laughter he hadn't heard in years filled his ears.
'I knew you'd catch me. You always catch me, even when I jump off a rooftop.'
And then, in a moment of sudden clarity, he saw it. The leverage he could use to save his brother.
There will always come a time when we need Sherlock Holmes.
In the meanwhile, he had to behave as dispassionately as ever if he wanted the rest of the world to buy his act. So he locked his heart place once more, pocketed its key and stepped back into the grim reality.