Mycroft Holmes had long since given up trying to find the person his words applied to. They were emblazoned across his shoulder blades in an emerald green untidy scrawl. When he had been younger he had spent hours thinking about what they meant but when he hit thirty and neither he nor his younger brother had found their soul mate he told himself that it didn't matter.
Sentiment was stupid. He would never find the person the words belonged to. He figured that one day they would just disappear without the two of them never having met.
...
Just after he turned forty Sherlock started using drugs to quiet his mind and Mycroft was clueless as to how to help him. It was driving him crazy by trying to convince him to stop. He refused to go to rehab and remained adamant that the drugs were the only things that would help.
Then something miraculous occurred.
Just by chance on his way home Sherlock had come across a crime scene. High on cocaine he started shouting out his deductions and Mycroft couldn't blame the lead detective for arresting him and made arrangements for him to be released as he had a hundred times before.
The difference was that this detective had listened to Sherlock and Mycroft watched his cameras in astonishment a week later after the killer had been apprehended. Detective Inspector Lestrade actually turned up on Sherlock's doorstep to thank him and invited himself into the flat.
He later found out from Sherlock that the DI had made him a deal. If Sherlock could get himself clean then he would let him assist on cases. Utterly bewildered Mycroft arranged for his brother to go to rehab and when he got back out Lestrade kept his word and Sherlock started to help the police giving himself the ridiculous title of consulting detective.
Mycroft was delighted. He hadn't needed to save his brother at all and Sherlock was finally clean. He kept a close eye on Lestrade and finally decided to kidnap him and have one of his friendly big brother chats.
...
It was obvious that Lestrade was severely unimpressed with being snatched off the street on his way home and he glared at Mycroft.
"Relax Inspector I merely wish to know what your business is with Sherlock Holmes."
Lestrade looked completely thrown by the topic of conversation and then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"What do you want with Sherlock?"
Mycroft smiled in the most unfriendly way imaginable and the policeman looked vaguely uncomfortable but stood his ground nonetheless. Impressed the politician gave his standard reply of being concerned. Which was true and yet hardly anyone believed it. Then he offered the man money to spy on Sherlock, as he did to everyone that got close to Sherlock, in the hope that he would be loyal.
He was not disappointed as Lestrade told him to piss off and then turned and walked away. Mycroft was left smiling and twirling his umbrella.
...
He frequently checked in on Sherlock at home and apparently so did DI Lestrade so it wasn't long before they ran into each other again.
Upon realising that he was in fact Sherlock's brother the detective had rolled his eyes and said "Should have known." His brother snorted in indignation but Mycroft felt amused.
Before long they would see each other with increasing regularity and even managed a few conversations with each other. It took about a year before he began to consider him a friend. Everything changed however on the day that Sherlock's temper got the better off him.
When Mycroft arrived that day he found Lestrade outside having just left. He was scowling so Mycroft knew there was something wrong instantly. When they made eye contact the other man let out a put upon sigh and jerked his head towards the door.
"He's being particularly insufferable today."
Mycroft nodded and thanked him for the warning.
Fate is a funny thing. If the government official had left it there and gone straight inside to see his brother then perhaps nothing would ever have happened. If he had chosen different words to try and cheer Lestrade up then maybe they never would have known.
There was a poem written by Robert Frost that had long been his favourite and he had often thought the words applied to him and his brother. Even though it was several lines long something, maybe destiny, made Mycroft say exactly the right ones.
"Some say the world will end in fire. Personally I think that Sherlock will get there first." Unaware of the bomb that he'd just dropped he smiled at Lestrade and carried on into the flat.
He didn't notice that all the colour had just drained out of the other man's face.
...
It was a week later that Mycroft first realised there was something wrong. In all fairness he had been extremely busy over some trouble with the CIA. It started with an annoyed phone call from his brother.
"What did you say to Lestrade?" Sherlock demanded through gritted teeth.
"What are you talking about?"
"He won't come to my flat anymore, if I want a case I actually have to go to Scotland Yard to get it."
"How difficult for you."
Sherlock hung up at that point probably so he could sulk in peace and Mycroft sat there for several minutes thinking. It was true he had only seen the detective inspector once this week and the other man had not been able to get away fast enough. He could only guess what was wrong and Mycroft Holmes was not a man who liked guessing.
So he went to find the answers.
A few hours later and none the wiser he was extremely annoyed. There was nothing different about the DI's life that would cause him to avoid the Holmes brothers. He wasn't any busier, he had no financial problems and there were no cases that were particularly demanding. Maybe that was why. Perhaps he just had nothing to give Sherlock to do. Mycroft's concern rose if Sherlock got bored again then he might go back to cocaine.
He had to know what was wrong.
...
It was an understatement to say that Lestrade did not look happy to have him in his office. The man looked positively frightened so he opened his mouth and started to reassure him that he was not here to hurt him.
"Inspector..."
"Greg" His companion interrupted him. Thrown slightly Mycroft blinked at him for a few seconds.
"I'm sorry?"
The detective actually managed a smile at that one.
"It's my name Mycroft, I think we know each other well enough for you to use it."
"Ok then. I've noticed Greg that you may be avoiding Sherlock and myself."
Greg looked uncomfortable and rubbed the back of his neck. That was more than enough of a confession. Mycroft was surprised to note that he actually felt hurt by the admission. Before he could ask why however Greg answered for him.
"The last time I spoke to you, you said something that shocked me. I went to Sherlock's this week under the pretence of giving him some cold cases when I only went because I remembered you left him a file you'd written in."
The politician frowned still confused.
The inspector sighed and closed his eyes. "I wanted a sample of your handwriting."
Then Mycroft understood. Every inch of him froze in anticipation. He forced himself to open his mouth.
"And?"
A nod was all it took and his entire world was thrown upside down. He had to get out of there. He needed to think.
...
Sherlock thought he was joking at first and had laughed his head off. When he realised that his brother was being serious his mouth had fallen open in disbelief.
"He's your soul mate. Yours. How can you have found yours first? That's just not fair!"
Mycroft rubbed his temples. This was definitely not helping; his brother was probably going to start sulking soon. Instead of listening to him ramble, he tuned him out and thought about what to do. He had never thought that he would find his soul mate and now that he had he was totally unsure of what to say. He couldn't ignore that he felt relaxed and perhaps even happy in the other man's presence but that didn't amount to love. At least not yet but his choice for soul mate could have been a lot worse.
However none of this was helping to explain why Greg would avoid him if they were meant to be together. He needed more information and he wasn't going to get it here.
The bright side was that Sherlock was furious.
...
"Can I see it?" He asked as soon as the door was open and his soul mate nodded before letting him in and leading him to the sofa. Greg took a deep intake of breath before rolling up his trouser leg and displaying his right ankle.
Written in a burning orange the handwriting was indisputably his own.
Some say the world will end in fire.
There was a brief pause before the detective muttered "I figured they were appropriate seeing as you run half the world single handed." Mycroft managed a choked laugh before biting his lip and asking the most important question of his life.
"Why would you run from me?"
A calloused hand took his own and smiled gently at him and Mycroft knew in that moment that it wouldn't take long to fall in love with this man.
"I didn't think you wanted anyone. You can be so cold sometimes. So mysterious and aloof. What could you possibly want with someone like me? " It took a few minutes before he understood. Greg thought he wasn't good enough. Mycroft wasted no more time proving him wrong and all he had to do was show him the words written on his back in that untidy police officers scrawl.
We can rebuild it together.
A/N Hey so I hoped you liked this companion piece. There won't be any more to this series though. Yeah I know the words aren't as good but lets face it the two of them have never actually been on screen together which makes things difficult.