NOTE: It obviously contains spoilers for TSOT, so if you haven't seen it yet, you might want to avoid this fic. ;)
Please, keep in mind that I'm French, hence the English mistakes! ;)
ABOUT HOW MYCROFT MISSED HIS SUNDAY MORNING JOG WITH THE AMBASSADOR OF LIECHTENSTEIN
Footsteps on the stairs. I glance at my pocket watch. 11.41pm. I must admit I had expected you much earlier. Maybe the speech hasn't been a complete disaster, after all.
"Oh, for God's sake! What are you doing here?!" You yell at me, throwing your coat and scarf over the couch arm.
"Ah, finally. Cinderella's coming home before midnight. How was the ball?"
"WHY. ARE. YOU. HERE?!"
Oh please. Like I need a reason to visit you, now. I was under the impression you rather enjoyed my company, lately. Or have you already forgotten how you practically begged me to play rubbish games with you?
I give you my most insincere smile.
"Nice to see you too, brother mine."
"Oh!" Realisation washes over you and you let out an exasperated sigh. "The flat is clean, if that's what's supposed to justify your presence here."
"I know," I smirk.
What do you think? I keep an eye on you, Sherlock. I always do. I almost lost you to a cocaine overdose, and I won't let that happen, ever again. And John Watson put on the ball and chain? Definitely a red alert. Your eyes roam around the living-room and you furrow your brow.
"Of course, you know. Tell your dogsbodies to be more careful next time. They can't even put a book back into its proper place," you snap, rearranging the books on the shelf. You then turn around and meet my eyes. "WHAT?! Wanna search me too?! Go ahead!"
You unbutton your jacket. I shake my head, almost amused.
"We both know it would be a waste of time."
I can perfectly tell by your body language that you're telling the truth. You're clean. Doesn't mean I can loosen my vigilance. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"Exactly. You are wasting your time, Mycroft. So what about... Err... I don't know..." You pretend to be thinking hard. "GETTING THE HELL OUT OF HERE?!"
Ouch. That venomous tone. It's even worse than usual. I may have underestimated your level of irritation... Something's wrong. It's not just about the wedding. There's something else. I can't quite put my finger on it yet but there's definitely something else. So what could be worse than having your darling John stolen from you?
Ok. Plan B.
"Fine," I say, grabbing my coat and my satchel and leaning on my umbrella to push myself to my feet. "I'll see you later, brother dear."
I give you a last glance and your face is priceless. Oh God, Sherlock, why don't you simply admit that you want me to stay?
"Where are you going?" You ask, trying your best to hide your surprise.
"Well, considering your warm welcome, leaving almost breaks my heart but I was actually thinking about going to the wedding's party and dancing all night long." You glower at me and I roll my eyes. "Home. Obviously."
"But you didn't even ask me if I've made a fool of myself with the speech –which I haven't, by the way! I've been brilliant!- Or how I saved the wedding by solving a murder. Well, a potential murder."
A potential murder? Oh, so that good old Sholto almost kicked the bucket then. Predictable, really.
"Well, that sounds truly wonderful but regrettably, I have better things to do."
How dare you pout! You do realise you kindly asked me to get the hell out of here a minute ago, right?
"Like what?"
"Getting some sleep. It's been a very long day. And if I can't sleep, well, who knows? Maybe I'll watch that DVD I had brought along with me tonight. To pass the time," I tell you, making my way to the door. "Goodbye, Sherlock."
"Which DVD?"
I grin but you can't see me. You're so easy to trick when you let your emotions get the best of you. You have to be more careful. I had warned you. I stop and turn around.
"Have a guess," I tease.
"Treasure Island?"
My jaw tenses.
"What makes you think I own a copy of that dud?"
"Oh, you didn't buy it for your own sake. You've always hated that movie."
"Well, everything sounds incredibly entertaining once you've seen Les Misérables."
Les Mis. Oh, God. Never again. I wince in disgust at the memory.
"No," you go on. "You had Anthea buy it this week because you're not just here to make sure I'm clean. You thought your beloved little brother would need to be comforted. Well, I don't."
I grit my teeth. Maybe you're a little less stupid than I think you are.
"Really?" I sneer.
"Which version?" You ask, ignoring my question.
"The 1950 one, of course."
Your favourite. You watched it so many times as a kid that you wrecked Dad's video recorder. It cost an arm at the time! And for some obscure reason, Mum blamed me for this. I still can't believe it. Well, it was always like that, anyway.
You smile at me. Not one of your hypocrite smiles you've been giving me for years. No. A genuine smile. A smile that wipes all my resentment away and I suddenly remember why I always took on the blame without a word.
"Tea?" You ask, still smiling.
And I smile back at you.
God. It's even worse than I remembered. A real torture. I think I'd rather be beaten up by that Serbian guy.
"You're happy, aren't you?" You ask after a while.
I raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
"That Hawkins didn't get stabbed? Yes. I am... ecstatic."
"That John got married."
Oh, that. I shrug.
"Why would I care?"
"I suppose I'll be seeing a lot more of you from now on. Just like old times," you quote me and if that voice you're using to do so is supposed to sound like me, I must say I am quite offended. "As much as I hate to admit it, I know you're right. And you're happy because you won't be as lonely anymore!"
You're ridiculous. If I were that lonely, I wouldn't burden myself with a prat like you. I'd get a dog. A basset. I like bassets. They look so stupid almost anyone could look intelligent next to them. Not that I need a dog to look intelligent. I don't need to look intelligent, I exude intelligence. Anyway, I'm not getting a dog. Dogs lose their hair and dribble excessively. And I am NOT lonely.
I roll my eyes.
"Nonsense."
"Oh, yes you are happy! You are happy because you think John has stopped being a threat for you. Because you just couldn't stand that I actually made friends with someone when you never did. Because you thought John had taken your place. You were jealous of him!"
You're such an idiot, Sherlock. I... Is that... Is that what you really think? Because you're really barking up the wrong tree here. Yes, I am jealous of the complicity you have with John, because look at us! Same blood and we've never been half as close as the two of you are! And I'm watching a bloody movie in the hope you realise I am here for you! In the hope that it helps me, if only a little, to fix that gap between us. But for goodness sake, I am not jealous of John Watson! I am grateful to him! For a hundred reasons! Because he pulled you out of boredom. Because he kept you away from drugs. Because he put you back on the right track. Because he... made you a better man... All those things that I, your big brother, have failed to do!
And he has my deepest respect because he can make you laugh. He can yell at you and yet you'll still listen to him. He can call you all names and yet you'll still love him to bits. And he has proven more than once that he would gladly give his life to save yours. And for that, I could never thank him enough.
And you know what? I am NOT happy that he left Baker Street and found himself a wife, because I know what consequences it's going to have on you. And on me. Because with him gone, I'll lose sleep again worrying about you, Sherlock.
"Have you lost your tongue or you just don't have anything to say because you know it's the truth?" You sneer.
I take a deep breath and try to erase all the things you've just said. I certainly don't want you to know you've hurt me.
"Oh yes, I am overjoyed," I say sarcastically because I don't have anything better to say.
"Of course you are, because you were right. I've lost him for good."
Your voice is quavering and I freeze, instantly forgetting my anger and bitterness. You are on the verge of tears.
You. Are. On. The. Verge. Of. Tears.
"Stop being a drama-queen, Sherlock," I tell you coldly, trying to keep composure.
"Bloody hell! Why do you all have to call me a drama queen today?!"
Bad move. Try something else, Mycroft.
"Sherlock, they're getting married, they're not moving to the darkest depths of Alaska," I try to reassure you.
"You said it yourself, that's the end of an era."
You're scared. I know you are. You think you no longer belong to John's life. You're wrong. And I was wrong too. I only realise this now. Yes, you are his best friend. But that's not all. John needs you. He needs the danger you bring to his life.
"I was just teasing you. Do you really think things are going to change? He grieved for you for two years. You lied to him. You betrayed him. And yet he forgave you and made you his best man because you're one of the two persons he loves most in the world. A ring on his finger isn't going to change anything, Sherlock."
You turn to face me, and tears are rolling down your face. I tense.
"She's pregnant."
Oh. So that was that. The other thing.
It sets up a new deal, of course. Those little creepy creatures are time-consuming and tend to isolate their parents in their own little bubble. And that good doctor will no longer be that inclined to put his life into danger. You'll have to fly solo again, I'm afraid. Then it doesn't mean you can't be friends anymore.
"John will never let you down." And I mean it. "Not after all you've put him through."
Although you try to wipe your tears away, you don't look convinced at all.
"The only thing I'm really worried about..." I go on and you give me an almost frightened look. "Is that you'll probably have to learn how to change a nappy because the chances are high that they choose you as Godfather."
You laugh. That's better than nothing. Then, without warning, you lie down on the sofa and put your head on my lap.
"I thought you weren't a child anymore," I mock gently, trying not to sound stupefied.
"Shut up. I'm trying to watch the movie."
I can't suppress a giggle.
"But you can run your hands through my curls."
This time, I almost choke.
"I'm sorry?"
You shrug.
"Well, you didn't mind doing this before."
Yes, that's right. I used to do this because it calmed you. What I never told you is that it calmed me too...
"But you were a kid!" I protest.
"CURLS!" You growl.
Some things never change. You're still as stubborn as a mule.
Hesitantly, I begin to massage your scalp. Very softly. And I feel your whole body relax almost instantly.
Last time I've had physical contact with you was the day you were found near death in that drug den. Worst day of my life. Of course, you don't remember me holding your hand a whole night. You were in hospital. In a coma. And I never told you that I'd spent the night at your bedside. That I'd begged you not to leave me. That I'd... Cried. Yes. Cried. It happens to me too, you know. But only you can pull my shell to pieces.
Anyway, you're not completely mistaken, after all. A part of me is selfishly happy that John got married. Because of moments like this. Moments I thought would never happen again. Moments I missed...
Soon enough, you fall asleep and I don't even dare to try and grab the remote control on the coffee table for fear of waking you up. I still have at least half an hour to spend one-to-one with Long John Silver. Oh joy.
"I didn't even know there was an embassy of Liechtenstein in London," your voice wakes me up.
Wakes me up? God. I don't even remember falling asleep in the first place. I rub my eyes.
"What are you on about?" I mumble.
"Well, apparently you've missed your jog with the ambassador of Liechtenstein."
I open my eyes and try to focus on my phone which you're holding right under my nose, and to read Anthea's text.
"Oh, bugger!"
I just can't believe it's 10.30am! I don't even think I've ever slept that late in my whole existence!
"Jogging? On a Sunday morning? Seriously?" You smirk.
"Need to consolidate British relationships with Liechtenstein," I grumble.
By standing their ambassador up. Well done, Mycroft.
"Oh, so that's why you're back to working out, then, huh? Well, I must admit the results are not that bad. You've already lost three pounds."
"Three pounds and a half," I correct.
"Hmm... Not with the Chinese takeaway you had before coming here yesterday. Prawn fritters. Very greasy, you know."
Prawn fritters, yes, right... Sometimes I wish I had a 'normal' brother... But then again, it would be very boring, wouldn't it? I clear my throat.
"Right. I'd better go," I say, getting up and texting Anthea.
"Mycroft!"
I turn around.
"What you... What you did... It was..." You stammer, trying to avoid my eyes.
I guess that's the closest thing to 'thank you' that I'll ever get from you, and it's already more than enough. So I pretend to be annoyed because, well, it's much easier than admitting I'm touched.
"Oh, dear Lord. You're not going to get all mushy, are you? You know I have a sensitive stomach. I doubt Mrs Hudson would be too pleased if I threw up on her carpet."
Apparently, throwing up on a carpet rings a bell. You give me a weird look.
"Yes, Sherlock, I've heard about your exploits. You really are a disgrace to the family," I say in a much more affectionate tone than I intended to.
You grin.
"Goodbye, Sherlock."
Thanks for reading! :)