Character studies of some of my favorite characters. It may or may not stay within the Sherlock fandom. For Random-Nexus who constantly frustrates me with her fics...but in a good way.
Pragma
Love that is driven by the head, not the heart...undemonstrative and lack of emotion.
Mycroft Holmes, of course, loved his brother. This did not necessarily mean that he likedhis brother. Mycroft would not voluntarily spend time with Sherlock, but he did it anyway because Mycroft felt that he owed it to their mother. So, Mycroft, the ever obedient eldest son would try and contact Sherlock whether it was via text, phone or a personal visit to 221B Baker Street.
Texting and phoning the younger Holmes brother never worked and since Mycroft was a persistent sort he always ended up visiting Baker Street.
Personal visits was something Mycroft detested.
Baker Street was not near his office, his home or the Diogenes Club and Mycroft Holmes sincerely hated traveling anywhere outside his sphere. He was a creature of ingrained habits, highly conscious of social mores and cues, while simultaneously snubbing his nose at them. Mycroft knew that he was a study in deep contrasts, but he was a Holmes - they were all conscious of their dual natures, even Sherlock. Nevertheless, if Mycroft had to travel outside his tightly woven sphere it tended to make the man very, very cross.
Even if he did not outwardly show it.
Naturally, Sherlock always knew how his brother felt and exacerbated Mycroft's already volatile mood by ignoring, insulting or playing his violin at an alarming volume - often making the instrument (and neighbors) screech in protest.
Oftentimes, Sherlock's flatmate, John Watson, would come home to find Mycroft and Sherlock engaged in a silent war of wills. John stifled his laughter seeing the two Holmes brothers so engrossed in their childish war; with Sherlock's face scrunched up in a angry and bitter expression while Mycroft's expression was smugly calm. Once John had found the two grown men nose-to-nose staring each other down, silently daring the other to break his silence. Both were naturally cross and both were unaware that they were cross-eyed, red faced with their hands clutching the sides of the chairs in what looked like pain.
It took all that John had not to burst out laughing when he walked in.
On the rare occasions that John had managed to sneak up on the Holmes brothers, John could always see the slightly pained expression in Mycroft's eyes - even if Sherlock never did. John was sure he had that same look whenever he visited with Harry and was willing to cut Mycroft a little (just a little) slack.
Family, John and Mycroft thought separately, were not the easiest people to engage in relationships.
During those occasions when John had interrupted their war of wills, Mycroft's forehead wrinkled and something like intense annoyance passed across his face before settling into his usual smug expression. Mycroft hated stalemates and to be constantly put into one by his brother was just tiresome.
Sherlock, on the other hand, merely took John's question (always if either one of them wanted tea) as the excuse it was and turned his piercing gaze onto his flatmate and snapped with a "Milk, no sugar." John inevitably turned to hide his smile from Mycroft and Sherlock as he went about making their tea.
Oh, how Mycroft longed to peer into Dr. Watson's most unfathomable mind. What was it about this former Army Captain that managed to tame his brother somewhat? They did not certainly seem to be in a romantic relationship, but Mycroft could not confirm this silently bowing to Sherlock's wishes to desist spying on their flat. (Mycroft certainly did not desist completely, mind you, but managed to keep his spying down to a weekly occurrence instead of the daily, once it became final that Dr. Watson would be moving in.)
In the solace of his home, Mycroft thought further about the deceptive John Watson. Like Sherlock, Mycroft did not consider himself to have many, if any, friends; acquaintances, yes, but certainly not friends. While he did not necessarily miss having the camaraderie of others Mycroft could not miss the fact that it hurt Sherlock greatly to be called a freak and to remain so perfectly alone. Mycroft, however, could not alleviate Sherlock's loneliness. Both men had done numerous injustices to each that furthered the divide between them. And both men did not have the slightest idea how breach that gap.
Being the big brother (both literally and figuratively) Mycroft was very very wary when John Watson seemingly popped out of nowhere and into Sherlock's life. Mycroft squashed the feelings of familial love and called it duty instead. He was doing it (Mycroft told himself) for their mother and not for love or concern on Sherlock's behalf. Never for love or concern. Never.
Just no.
And try as he might, Mycroft could not spin the initial kidnapping into anything else but a kidnapping.
Truly, though, if pressed, Mycroft would have considered his kidnapping of John H. Watson the most gentle of his kidnappings. And if pressed again - this time under considerable physical pain - Mycroft needed to know that this seemingly ordinary man wasn't going to hurt his only brother. Sherlock, Mycroft knew, had had enough pain and hurt to last him several lifetimes.
Mycroft did not like knowing that he was one of those people who had caused Sherlock that pain and hurt.
If one asked Mycroft's many contacts and acquaintances, they would respond that they never quite knew where they stood with Mycroft Holmes - he was such a completely and utterly undemonstrative type of person. It took Sherlock by surprise (and much suspicion) to find out that Mycroft had kept his word of not spying on them constantly and kept it to a minimum. Sherlock briefly considered that Mycroft had ulterior motives but it was too much unlike him that Sherlock forced himself to discard the theory.
What Sherlock had deduced, however, that his brother might have liked the solid doctor, might even have admired him, but knowing Mycroft, he would never say this outloud anyone. And thus, being uncharacteristically kind said nothing to Mycroft - not even to irk or irritate the older man.
If one delved further into the psyche of Mycroft Holmes one could say that he was...jealous of Sherlock's friendship with the not-so-normal John. Mycroft wondered what it was like to have such an ally and confidante as John Watson. But Mycroft knew better than to try and seek someone out as such. It would just end badly. No one knew of Mycroft's jealousy, of course, not even Sherlock, but Mycroft had a feeling that Anthea knew...but wise woman that she was, kept it to herself.
Anthea had her own theories, of course. But what they were no one would ever know.
Mycroft's admirationfor John surprised him greatly which was why he ultimately had kept John in place at 221B Baker Street. John was someone that Sherlock trusted and despite his previous misgivings secretly owned up to the fact that Mycroft trusted John as well...even if John did not trust Mycroft Holmes one tiny bit.
He didn't blame him, not really. Mycroft supposed that he was being a bit dramatic when he took John the first night. He bit back a surprised and genuine grin when John had called Mycroft on his own dramatics. No one, of course, ever had the gall to do so.
Drama, naturally, was Sherlock's area. He blamed their mother but told no one.
John's trust of Mycroft was shaky at best and nonexistent at worst. Oh, John tried to trust Mycroft but it was slow going ever since that unpleasant episode. Mycroft wasn't willing to completely forgive himself and really neither was John. Sherlock was, of course, indifferent to his brother's inner turmoil and never bothered to correct his friend when John got a bit...exuberant in his shouting regarding all things Mycroft Holmes.
Mycroft was authentically amused one day to find a CCTV feed of John Watson yelling and shaking his fist at one of the ubiquitous cameras. Mycroft clearly could read John's lips regarding what he could do with the bugs he and Sherlock had found in their flat. He bit back a smile and chose, instead, to send a care package of sorts to 221B Baker Street that included the tea that John preferred but was difficult to find, a set of very expensive chemistry glassware that Sherlock had wanted and even a new set of pans for Mrs. Hudson.
The next day, the CCTV feed showed a still irate John Watson but instead of the ranting and raving that Mycroft expected, John was giving a terse thank you. A corner of Mycroft's mouth lifted as he watched the soldier in John Watson giving an about face and neatly walk away.
Mycroft sighed and ran a hand through his thinning reddish hair. Truthfully, Mycroft wished that he had a better relationship with his only brother. But their too similar personalities and their shared past just deterred them time and time again. So, Mycroft and Sherlock went round and round each other sniping and never expressing what needed to be said.
John Watson could easily express all the emotion that Mycroft could not, which made Sherlock Holmes a very, very lucky man to have John as a friend.
Reviews are nice, but not necessary to my emotional well-being. Also, not beta'ed so if you see something a wee bit off, please let me know.