Written: 10-19-12
Word
Mycroft sat back heavily in his seat, staring at the telegram he held in his hand and futilely willing the words to change. They stood out in stark black upon the paper, as if they might spring upon him at any moment.
Sherlock is dead.
Telegrams were renowned for their lack of emotion, but the paper in his hands seemed to shake of its own accord – or was that his hands shaking? Unheard of for a Holmes – but again, few really knew the family.
Doctor Watson was on his way back. Mycroft would be at the station to meet him.
