Mycroft Holmes really verily obviously was not well. He was not, by definition, all right or okay. His mask, though, and thank goodness, remained intact and no one knew just how unwell he was. Well, perhaps Anthea had suspicions when she saw her boss cutting out the rude articles discrediting his deceased brother from the papers. Mycroft had to deal with Mummy too. She sobbed for two days straight upon hearing the news and then demanded her eldest son take her to see the grave, two-hundred-and-twenty-one B Baker Street, and then St. Bart's.
When Mycroft accomplished all that, he took a deep breath, got into his black car, ordered Anthea to practically cancel everything for the rest of the week ("…Yes, sir"). Mycroft returned to his own rather stately flat and sat simply in his bedroom in a plush chair and stared at the wall opposite. Barely moved, barely ate, drank, slept for the rest of the week.
It was one month later when he got a call from Dr. John Watson. It was a short and awkward call; John hated having to speak with him, Mycroft could tell, but he was cleaning out the flat and wanted to know if Mycroft wanted his brother's things. Only a few hours later, Mycroft arrived at 221B and surveyed the main room. Dusty, sad, dark.
John was in the kitchen. He leaned against the little table and had his arms folded over his chest. Mrs. Hudson made obnoxious noise behind him.
"Take what you want, Mycroft," John said simply and strongly. "Take it all for all I care. Easier for me and it's not like he'll shout at me for letting you have it all."
Mycroft watching him limp out of sight and up the stairs. He then turned to Mrs. Hudson who had tear stains running down her cheeks. Mycroft stepped carefully around the mess and picked up the violin and bow.
"Where is his case?"
"Under his bed was the last I saw of it," was Mrs. Hudson's timid reply. "I can fetch it for you." She tottered off but returned lugging the dusty, velvet-lined case with her. She graciously dusted it off while the older Holmes sifted through papers on the desk. He eyed the scratched mobile phone but decided John could certainly have it. Mycroft next noticed the large dictionary his brother had swiped from his childhood room ages ago.
"Thank John for me, will you, Mrs. Hudson?" he said as a goodbye. She nodded and Mycroft gave a tight lipped smile. He turned to leave but suddenly stopped. He, seriously, almost forgot about his plan. Reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded paper, Mycroft handed it to Mrs. Hudson, staying, "We have a storage facility reserved in our family name. If John decides he wants any part of my brother's things thrown out, call these men. They'll take care of it." Another tight lipped smile and he was off.
When Mycroft got home, he put the violin at the top of his closet and placed his reclaimed dictionary in his study. Anthea was at his front door a moment later and so Mycroft managed to forgot his dead brother for a while.
Three weeks later, though, Mycroft received another call from Dr. John Watson. Mycroft was in a meeting at the time, so Anthea graciously intercepted the call and took down John's message. Later, in the car, Mycroft asked casually what John had wanted.
"He says thank you for the storage, sir. And also he's moving out. And he's 'trying to forget him, so please don't call ever again.'"
"Yes, well," Mycroft muttered, sliding his eyes to gaze out the window, "thank you, Anthea."
"Would you like to schedule a last visit to Baker Street?" she asked calmly after a few minutes of pure silence. She knew she would want to at least; it couldn't hurt to ask him. She knew their relationship was probably the very definition of sibling rivalry and hatred and all, but Anthea thought at least it could be forgotten for one measly hour as Mycroft managed to say goodbye to the flat.
"No, that is perfectly all right."
Ah, too sentimental then.
"Yes, sir." A few more minutes. "Would like to have his violin regularly tuned?"
"No, thank you."
"Yes, sir."
"The folders for the developing boat were put away properly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent."
Anthea watched her boss and saw he was trying to forget too.
I know, upsetting subject matter and all. Sorry about that. I just still really love Mycroft even after all he did in TRF, so I wanted to write about it, clearly. I really hope you enjoyed this first part (even though it was short and quite plain) and leave me feedback by leaving a review if you feel the need to do so!
:D