*The Day My Brother*
by: WhiteGloves
It's been so long! I miss this! T.T
I think I will especially like this story ;)
Thank you for reading The Day My Brother...
1: Made a Mistake
Mycroft was seething. It was unusual that he was worked up, but he was very very tired having been up for 36 hours, so it was understandable that his patience was very very thin. The Royal Wedding has just occurred and every detail about it was a bible to him— details have passed his office for consultation, confirmation and approval—as it had for the past three months and it was nonstop till today, even when everything was over. From the six hundred guests in St. George, the parade at Windsor Castle, to all the flower arrangements, tailoring arrangements, candle arrangements down to the horses to be used, he knew everything. All the people involved. All hundreds of them. He has pictured every possible scenarios and has prepared every ounce of security his office could commit for the safety of not only the Royalties but also the country's people.
No one ever needed to doubt Great Britain's protection when he was on watch. But mostly he was adamant to avoid the unwarranted scandal his government would receive if anything happened, especially in this warring times of social media—naturally speaking of the man in White House. He'd be devastated if the pink-plum-blonde man took on to twitter and engaged twitter war with Britain's fastest twitter user—his younger brother.
Mycroft cringed at the thought for that was the last thing he needed— petty issues that would make the Queen call him to smack him on the shoulder with her royal fan. Anything but the royal fan.
So the tiniest detail was reported to him, the slightest change from the many scenarios he saw must be reported. Anything out of the ordinary. Anything at all. The event then went on, smoothly at first, then began the rouse of the rats from the sewers and one by one, Mycroft's men were upon them. With his two thousand men deployed in civilian clothes and properly instructed by none other him, these criminals were all bound to be caught, like school of goldfish unaware of the nets already surrounding them, heaving them up to the surface to be taken.
So far his men had taken custody of about seventy-five suspicious people, half of which were actual perpetrators, fifteen working on their own gain, ten anarchists, two were considered highly dangerous while the rest were just civilian out to get some attention. Nasty bit, the last group, he'd have to teach them a lesson they'd never forget by starting of suspending all twitter accounts.
The last group actually tested his patience more than he thought it would. Because some people and their attention seeking bandwagons. What has the world come into. All of these troubles, Mycroft answered as best as he could and his decisions were always on point and followed. So when received that phone call and heard that some foreign VIP who would be staying in the country for a prolonged vacation wanted sovereign rights to go travel without escorts, his poor-lack-of-sleep-paper-thin patience snapped.
He clutched his mobile close on his ears, his right hand rubbing the pen between his fingers, his brows furrowed and the curl on his lips visible by the screen of his laptop. The Wedding may have been gone and over with, but he was not one to believe that such opening on a storm could pass without a final attempt. And these visitors wanted what?
"Ridiculous." He muttered with much relish as he sat on his lone chair inside his dark office.
"It's what they want."
"Nonsense, I wouldn't have it—we will not remove the escorts be them officials, celebrities or whatnot. I don't care if the wedding is over, even idiots know that's when the threat goes and deliver. It is no business of mine where they want to go, but as long as they are in this country, they will follow the protocol. No, it's not condescending, it's me. You really want to contradict me at this stage now, Harry?"
The gentleman on the other end began explaining again, but Mycroft suddenly perked his eyes up, wondering if what he was hearing was true: noise in his office! He waited for a few more second, thinking of the impossibility, but then there really was that raucous sound that he had to raise his eyes towards his closed door, again his thin eyebrows up to his hairline as he heard commotion outside that could only mean his only VIP has decided to drop by. After declining to offer a helping hand, this brother of mine…
"The threat has passed—" came the voice his phone again.
"That's what they said on the Manchester Bombing on 96. I was so negligent not to insist."
"Mycroft, these are American adults we speak of. Friends of the Duke of Sussex—"
"Need I say more?"
Mycroft frowned as the people outside became nosier and dropped his pen on his table, his eyes casting a side look to his umbrella perfectly hanging on the edge of his table. The noise came closer, he wondered if someone was actually wrestling with his brother.
"This is no longer open for discussion, Harry. They abide or they get abducted for interrogation by me, for why else would they request something so absurd? I assure you I will promise them a memorable vacation that'd be haunting them on their sleep. Hang up now, I have something at hand."
He hung up on that last sigh of his acquaintance, just as the door opened and his younger brother donning that black coat of his came barging in like the whirlwind with an air of impishness Mycroft so deplores.
But he was tired, feeling irritated and he did not bother to conceal this to Sherlock who immediately recognized his older brother's mood and was giving him that mysterious grin as if to say he was about to add to his troubles. Mycroft leaned back to his chair to ease his body, preparing for the blow that was ever Sherlock Holmes.
"What have you done? Now?" Mycroft began with an eye towards the doorway for the footsteps outside were still thunderous, after his brother's wake Sherlock stopped in front of him, his eyes on the mobile phone.
"Went all out, did you?" of course he was referring to the wedding.
"I never hold back—"
"I was talking about the money spent." Sherlock gave him a nasty look so condemnatory it took Mycroft a minute to seize control of his own snappy remark, knowing full well the conversation will only be digging holes in the already debatable topic his brother was obviously aiming for to get information. All the money, government fund, citizens' taxes—who was he going to share it, Mrs. Hudson?
He pressed his lips and stared at Sherlock impassively.
"Cheers to you for being a republican, but you don't need to go further, I know what you're doing. Is that dear land lady well?"
"She's been harpooning about the dream wedding, so quaint. Wouldn't hurt to dispel her with facts about the bills."
"Wouldn't hurt you if you shut up about it."
"Oh please."
"What is this?" Mycroft now watched as two of his men came in, half dragging, half pulling a man in patched jacket— homeless man, wearing his blue winter jacket with thick grey fur, dark pants and running shoes. His face was hidden in a bulging dirty face mask, his messy hair entangled with his wool hat. The older Holmes easily stood up and placed both hands on the edge of his table as he sensed danger at the man's every step. This was his secret office—for an outsider to come in was dangerous!
"Sherlock?" he flashed his brother an angry look, "For Christ sake—"
"You better ask who, social protocol, I never understood, obviously you had to—you work in the government." Sherlock rambled with a heave of sigh and stood sideways so the man became visible to Mycroft's eyes. The older Holmes noted the unknown man remained rooted on the spot with arms locked on each side of the guards. "Anyways, I found him on the usual spot of our old homeless guy—actually, my homeless network I placed outside your building—you know for curiosity purposes—"
"I know about him." Mycroft said firmly. "He reports what I want him to report."
A look of displeasure crossed the consultant detective's face upon knowing the double agent but whatever was on his mind, he didn't seem interested to share as he went on—
"You know I change them every week."
"I know you realise when they've been compromised by me otherwise I would have mocked you long ago, it's a child's game." Mycroft didn't take his eyes off their hostage. "This is outrageous; you know you shouldn't have brought him here. Are you planning a heartfelt confession?"
"Ah, no." Sherlock's impassive face told Mycroft everything was indeed, a game, "I came and noticed him, realized he's not the last man I hired so observe? What do you think he is? He's not yours, I confirmed now, nor mine—so what was he doing on the spot where my homeless network was supposed to be stationed—who by the way—I found dead this morning."
Mycroft's eyes widened and shot the stranger a look of apprehension. The younger Holmes crossed his arms.
"You were so busy you didn't notice your mistake—"
"A terrorist right under my nose, Sherlock—but why bring him here?!" Mycroft angrily retorted, "This doesn't repair anything—if anything this makes things worst! Have you really gone insane?"
"He's a spy—isn't that what you're best playing at? And else should have I done?"
"Exactly what should you have done?!"
Sherlock smirked and at that instant Mycroft understood. "Mistakes brother, sometimes have to be rubbed in your face. Besides, we both know he's not coming out of here. Ever. So what are you so afraid of?"
Mycroft grinded his teeth. "This is still thoughtless! Reckless! He could have installed chips, bombs, GPS—"
"He got nothing, I checked."
"Sherlock—!?"
For his younger brother had turned his back and was already heading towards the door.
"Not my problem." He said, waving a hand up and disappearing outside the door, but not before he added, "I was just doing what normal citizens do, brother. Help the country. I hope it's your last one."
And he was gone.
Mycroft was left staring at the space Sherlock disappeared to and wondered why his brother always acted the way he did. Careless. A number of protocol was wasted, he risked national security, and worst, he had betrayed his older brother and exposed his office to danger that may seem minor at first but has colossal end result.
And the colossal event began exactly that moment, when the man in front of him suddenly made drastic movements—elbowed his captors violently—Mycroft was quick to reach his umbrella but it was too late when the terrorist pulled out his face mask with his bare teeth exposed—biting on a small device in between his teeth that blinked with a count of—
3…2…1…
Oh, Sherlock.
There was not much in the last seconds that ran except his umbrella was on his hand— and then that deathly bang.
-To be Continued-
A/N: Glad to be back with a bang! As short as it can be^^
I always need a string to tie it in the real world!
The Wedding asked for another Holmes brothers fic!
i hope the real world gives me time -.-
Thank you for Reading!