A/N: And another prompt from JennaEf. Thank you:)
It appears that writing 221B is fun. So don't think I'm going to stop any time soon.
This one is kind of angsty.
Prompt: Paper cut
Mycroft watched a small drop of blood slide down his finger; infinitely slowly it made its way downward, leaving a crimson path on its wake. Impassively, Mycroft followed its progress with his eyes.
The tiny paper cut stung, hurt more than it should; or at least his subconscious told him so, projecting his inner turmoil on the real pain.
"Sir? Should I get the first aid kit?" The concerned voice of Mycroft's PA broke into his thoughts. She was trying not to stare, but was sending him worried glances.
"No," Mycroft replied distractedly, eyes still on the small cut on the pad of his ring finger. "No."
He flexed his hand, clenched it into a fist and unclenched again. It still hurt.
He felt like a fool, comparing such a small thing to the failure that was his life. Not professional life; never professional. But personal. Always too busy with work, Mycroft Holmes never had time for a proper relationship. And when he'd met his 'perfect man' he didn't know how to fight to keep what they had. At times like this Mycroft hated himself.
Timidly, he hoped that not all was lost for them.
He took out a white handkerchief with initials GL in the corner and wiped the blood.
He was going to rebuild his life. Bit by bit.