Author's Note: Here's another little vignette. This time it focuses on Mycroft and his thoughts after Sherlock'd "death." If anyone reads this then enjoy!
Disclaimer: Again, I don't own Sherlock in any incarnation. Though a girl can dream, right?
It'd been a week since the incident occurred. A week since he felt at a lost. He'd always been there for his little brother, always looked out for him, and now the absence of that job left him reeling unsure of what to do next. Oh, he still did his normal job fulfilling a minor role in the government, but without the purpose of watching over his main concern, he felt a bit deadened. It was ironic really. The "Ice Man" who always looked out for his annoyingly brilliant little brother's well-being was left feeling cold and numb at the absence of his presence.
Time progressed rather slowly for Mycroft. Each day he'd do what was needed. Each day he would slowly grow more numb and more distant, a feat that many did not think was possible. It was now a little over two months since his little brother's apparent suicide. He sat behind his desk, his finger tips pressed together much like his brother's had done when he was thinking about something particularly stimulating. He sat thinking about what to do now that so much of his time had been cleared.
"You know, you really shouldn't be eating all those cakes, Mycroft," said a dulcet and very familiar voice.
Mycroft turned around to see the familiar icy blue gaze. It was the same gaze he feared he'd never see again. The slightest hint of surprise presented itself in his features, but no one would be able to tell besides the Holmes brothers. And so, from his parted lips he said the only thing he could think of:
"Sherlock."