Title: Trustee
Author: AnnieVH
Summary: Mycroft goes to visit Sherlock.
Rating: PG.
Genre: family, angst.
Characters or Pairing: Sherlock, Mycroft.
Prompts: thegameison_sh 3rd challange, younger/older.
Warning: mentions drugs abuse and detox.
Spoilers: for ACD's general canon and the series.
Disclaimer:don't own. Just burrow.
Mycroft's first words were, "You're too thin."
That infuriated Sherlock more than walking into his flat and finding his brother perched on his armchair waiting for his return, as if that was a casual drop by that had been delayed by merely eight months. Don't you hate London traffic? He knew telling him to get out and never come back would be useless, so he went to crack a window open.
Mycroft pretended Sherlock had offered him some sort of greeting and didn't give up the conversation, "Like your new flat. The red walls are alarming, though. Like blood. But giving your recent activities I'm sure it doesn't bother you. By the way, I've met your new friend."
"Tried to bribe him already?" Sherlock said, tucking a cigarette in his mouth and patting his pockets for a lighter.
At the sight of the orange glimmer, Mycroft requested, "Put that out."
"This is my flat and I want to smoke. Have a problem, there's the door."
Mycroft watched him blow smoke into the room, not bothering to aim for the window. Said, "We need to talk about your finances."
Sherlock pocketed the lighter and didn't look at his brother. "What about them?"
"The sergeant says you didn't get payed for your consulting on the case."
An indifferent shrug covered in smoke.
"If you want to have a hobby that's fine, but you need income."
"Maybe I should have access to my fund again." Mycroft didn't answer. "I should've get it at twenty one, now I'm twenty seven-"
"That's inheritance. Not income."
"You don't trust me." Sherlock smiled behind the cigarette, happy to have proved a point.
"Lets not forget why I had to block it in the first place."
He mimicked his older brother's voice, "You're a bloody junkie, Sherlock." Mycroft wondered if he had sounded that disappointed at the time or if that was just how Sherlock had heard it.
"Don't worry about me using again." Sherlock continued, sucking in a huge amount of smoke and letting it out slowly. "I'm scared straight this time. Not that you have any idea how I got to that."
"Don't act like I'm the who let people down. These past eight months weren't easy for me as well."
"You were counting too. That's good." Sherlock squished the stub and looked at his brother, challenging him to explain.
Mycroft seemed bothered at that, but not intimidated at all. "I didn't lock you up at a mental institution and threw away the key. You could've come back whenever you felt ready, no need to wait for me to rescue you. As usual."
"How was I supposed to know, Mycroft?" He asked, savoring the irony in his mouth. "You are so fond of controlling my life."
"Somebody had to, you clearly had none over it." Mycroft snapped, hostility finding a way through his words.
"I do now."
"What you have is eight months sober and a chance to play detective. Trust is not that easy to regain, Sherlock."
"It's good you acknowledge that."
Mycroft stared at his little brother a moment then shot to his feet. "Clearly, this visit is pointless."
"This is why people call first."
Mycroft crossed the small living room in one step and turned at the door. Took in the small living room, the red walls, the very little furniture. "You don't want to find a job, that's your problem. I'll set an account where you-"
"Where I can get a fair allowance. How generous of you to allow me a penny or two of my own money." Sherlock said, displeased.
"You pay your bills and stay clean. In a year we can talk again. Until then, you better get yourself a flatmate."
"I don't need a babysitter."
"We both know you'd forget to feed yourself without someone to remind you, let alone pay the bills. In a month you'd be living on the streets again."
Sherlock ignored the last remark and didn't say another word. Mycroft turned on his heels and left.
**FIM**