Word Prompt: Abject
Mycroft hovered by the coffin, uncertain for the first time in thirty years. What should he say? That he loved his little brother, in spite of his faults? The tears threatening to spill down his frost-reddened cheeks made that obvious enough. Mycroft was no machine; his brother was dead, and it was his fault. He had broken his promise. 'I will always look out for you.' The words of a boy just thirteen years old, helping his brother up as the others looked on and laughed. Laughed at the freaks. Mycroft discreetly stifled a sob in his bespoke leather glove.