A/N - Wow, I haven't updated in a while. I'm hoping to get back to my other story Memories Fading and a couple of oneshots. Enjoy!
Mycroft was well aware that he shouldn't be here. He really shouldn't be anywhere near here but the urge was just too strong. He had to see for himself. He had to see that the rumours were true. He had to see for himself.
Of course, Anthea had given him plenty of files about the boys name and inherited characteristics but really the essence of a person cannot be condemned to ink and paper, one must see a person to decipher their true nature. To look into someone's eyes is to look into that person's soul, at least for a Holmes brother it was.
He knew they came to this park on Sundays. It was a regular outing for them. His brother did like to stick to routine even if the routine was unfamiliar and perhaps daunting. Mycroft sat on a cold wooden park bench with a tabloid newspaper in front of him. He laughed bitterly as he was reminded of what he must look like now. The newspaper trick was an old one but he had had no other option. In fact he could have gone the whole hog and just cut eye holes out of the paper too had he not had some scrap pride left.
Mycroft coughed as the crisp autumn chill made its way to his core. He really shouldn't be out here. He reached into his deep dress coat pockets and pulled out a handkerchief. Taking down the paper to dab at his nose he was able to catch the first glimpse of a couple heading along the footpath not far from where he was sitting. The man was taller obviously and the woman seemed to cling to his side with affection and possibly slight fear. What did she have to be frightened of, he wondered absently. Despite her apprehension she was smiling and little puffs of cold air were omitted from her mouth as she sighed happily. The man himself was stoic as ever but leaned in slightly towards the petite woman whom Mycroft noted had dyed her hair a shade darker than its usual mousy brownness. Their hands were interlaced as they seemed to discuss the park, or the trees or some other aspect of their lives. Mycroft used to be able to lip read but his eyesight was failing, just another side affect.
A small boy, no more than six or seven, came rushing out from behind an old oak tree. His auburn curls dancing merrily around his face as he rushed to and fro enjoying the freedom the park had to offer. He was wrapped up in a striped scarf and matching gloves that contrasted starkly with his small black trench coat. Mycroft laughed at the similarities between father and son when another aching cough wracked through his body. He grabbed his newspaper quickly and hid behind it like a shield, there was no need to draw attention to himself.
XXX
"As I was saying Molly, there is really no need for you to go back to work. We do not struggle financially and it is nice to have someone to talk at" Sherlock said as the small woman nestled into his side.
"I know Sherlock but it would be nice to have something to do now Ollie is at school and you know I kind of miss cutting up dead bodies" Molly giggled as Sherlock rolled his eyes, "and you know I can always get you body parts."
Sherlock seemed to consider this for a moment, "I suppose that would be conducive to a few of my experiments."
Molly huffed as they continued walking. She had learnt over her time spent with Sherlock that arguments were not won easily but a few hours of the silent treatment and making him sleep on the sofa could ensure that Molly got her own way in the end. Molly looked up at Sherlock just as a bundle of energy whizzed out of a bush and ran straight past them.
Ollie was her pride and joy and quite frankly, although Molly knew she was biased, he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen. Thankfully, he had inherited his father's good looks and curls but seemed to have Molly's kind nature and less of Sherlock's abrasiveness. They were yet to find out if he could deduce people although Sherlock was keen to teach him.
Sherlock observed his boy as he ran around the open park. He was so much like Sherlock at that age that Sherlock couldn't help but smile. He had never thought of himself as normal but he had never really been given the choice of normalcy. His gift had been shown at an early age and since then he was identified as weird by other people, a freak even. Yet now, with Molly at his side and his very own little boy in front of him he felt normal or as close to normal as a genius consulting detective can get.
He glanced briefly at Ollie as he made his way around the park and headed to the park bench, he must be tired, Sherlock thought to himself. He looked to the bench where a man was sitting. Newspaper up obscuring his face but his trousers were sharply tailored and shoes shining. Business man, well groomed, wealthy, government perhaps… The man gave a loud cough as the newspaper dipped slightly. Wait that hair. It can't be but, no it is. Sherlock Holmes is never wrong. It is him, it's Mycroft.
Sherlock looked down to the small boy tugging at the edge of his jacket.
"Dad, I'm tired" Ollie declared giving an impressive yawn as if to prove a point.
Sherlock looked to Molly quickly and them the man on the bench, "Molly, take Ollie home. I need to go and collect a moss sample before I come back."
"Alright, but don't come back late this time. Don't make me phone the police again."
Sherlock gave a boyish grin as he kissed her on the head and then patted the small boys cheek, "It's alright shouldn't take a minute but go ahead anyway its getting colder."
As soon as Molly and his son had gone round the corner and out of sight Sherlock walked over to the park bench to the man he hadn't seen in eleven years.
XXX
"Mycroft."
"Sherlock."
Sherlock sat down and studied the man next to him. He did not look at all like his brother. This man was not the Mycroft the knew. This man was gaunt and had the complexion of a ghost. His forehead was covered in lines and his eyes were droopy and tired.
"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked abruptly.
"I-I had to see for myself."
"See what?"
"That the rumours were true" Mycroft smiled and then coughed taking a sharp breath as the pain got worse.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I…" Mycroft stumbled over the words. His brother was a sensitive case the wrong words could set him off and Mycroft didn't have time for that, "It's just a cold, forgot to take my medicine" he shrugged.
"I've not seen you in 11 years, why now?"
"I'm sorry Sherlock; I've been a bit…busy. I see that you have offspring."
"Yes" Sherlock replied feeling uncomfortable with the conversation already. If Mycroft wanted something why wasn't he just saying it outright?
"What is his name?" Mycroft queried shakily as the cold was spreading rapidly throughout his bones.
"You know already. I imagine you have it on file."
"Yes but I want to hear it from you."
Sherlock looked his brother in the eyes and for the first time was shocked to see such pain in the silver orbs that were normally without feeling, "Oliver. Oliver Stanley Vernet Holmes."
"Ah, after Molly's father and ours how fitting. Oliver means olive tree if I'm not mistaken. Grandmother used to have a beautiful olive tree in France if I remember correctly. You used to love that tree. The smell you said was enchanting" Mycroft smiled fondly at the memory and looked out to the distance.
"Yes I believe I did but it also happens to be Molly's favourite musical" Sherlock replied with a tight smile.
Mycroft sighed sadly as he remembered his condition. It wasn't long now and really this moment was now or never.
"Sherlock," Sherlock hummed in response, "I am sorry for all that I have done. I shouldn't have betrayed you to Moriarty and I should've have put family first but I didn't and I've spent long enough dwelling on it. You seem to have a good life here and I'm sorry that I cannot provide more. I hope you'll forgive my suddenness. I had to see for myself and time is of the essence," Mycroft paused and took in a shuddery breath, "Now I think I must be getting back inside and you to your family. Goodbye, Sherlock."
Mycroft stood carefully and placed a walking stick that Sherlock had not noticed before onto the ground. He turned to walk away but thought better of it.
"And Sherlock?"
"Yes."
"Tell her how you feel. She is still scared that she will lose you."
"Mycroft, wait, what do you mean time is of the essence? You're not making any sense." Sherlock said through gritted teeth.
"Soon, Sherlock, soon."
With that Mycroft Holmes set off down the stone path away from Sherlock and his family. Away from the warmth that he might have once had. Away from all the regrets and all the guilt that mounted inside him. He walked, step by painful step, into the autumn sunshine that caressed his hardened features. He walked into the light where he might find some peace at last.
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