The ride to my brother's 'office' is short, shorter than I would have preferred it be.
What am I supposed to say? 'Why isn't he dead?' No, no, no... that won't work.
I pay the cabbie and exit without so much as a word of thanks.
Pathetic, look at yourself Sherlock.
Get out of my head.
Before I can battle my thoughts anymore, I become aware of a presence beside me.
"Mycroft." I scoff, annoyed that he isn't inside where he should be.
"We should talk, brother mine."
"I have nothing to say to you." My voice is a low growl despite my reasoning for being here.
"Really?" He's unconvinced, as I would expect. "Why do we constantly play this game, you know you will ever win at it." We turn to face one another.
"You've put on weight again."
Really, Sherlock? Laammmeeee.
I told you to get out!
"You've lost weight again."
"You're avoiding Geoff."
"You're avoiding John."
"You should be in your office."
"You should be in your flat."
"You never leave, what did you need, lunch?"
Again? You should get a loan to buy some better deductions, because this is pitiful.
Just leave me alone.
"You left a crime scene before you were finished."
"What are you, my mother?"
"No, but I'm sure our mother wouldn't approve of your current activities."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what it means."
We stare at one another for several seconds, silently fighting a battle of the wills.
Despite my wish to win, I find myself looking away, effectively losing the match. "Gavin was going to propose to you." All I want is to get away from this now pointless conversation, it's nothing but a waste of time.
"Pity, I was going to propose to him."
My stomach twists at his words. I've never advocated for or against their relationship, but I don't want to hear about it. There are enough problems in the world without adding their bothersome relationship to the mix. I should have seem the signs before it become this serious.
"Gregory called and said you left in a rush, that he was concerned about you." Mycroft clicks his umbrella lightly on the ground.
"He's your goldfish, not mine." I snap, my shoulders stiff and my jaw set. "Perhaps he's bored."
"You're changing the subject, Sherlock."
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Don't make me bring John into this, Brother mine." His words are like venom to my already compromised mental state, and I blame that on my reaction.
"I don't make you do anything, who's the British Government?!" Anger is the only emotion that exists anymore it seems. Nothing is alright and to be honest I don't know if I want it to be alright. "What makes you think I would ever want to make you do anything? Well I don't. You're the one who sent me to Serbia; everything that happened there was your fault!"
His head tilts slightly, expression still as solid and cold as before. "You experienced a flashback."
"Shut up."
"Perhaps it's time for that test you've been putting off since your return."
"Shut up." My tone is more of desperation at this point than the anger I felt earlier. "Why wasn't he dead?"
"Who?"
"You promised that you killed him, that he was never coming back." Tears enter my eyes and I'm barely holding them back. Why do I still feel such fear towards a man who can no longer do harm to me?
"Ah, that man." Mycroft sighs. "We should discuss this inside."
"No."
"Don't make me call John, he would be disappointed to be forced to come here."
"I don't care."
"Dmitri Krishol is dead, Sherlock."
"I know, I just saw his body after someone tossed him off a building."
"Impossible." Mycroft shakes his head in disagreement. "I saw to his death personally."
"I just saw him, it was the same tattoo on his neck, it was him!"
"No, he's been dead for quite some time."
"You're lying, why are you covering up the truth?"
"There is nothing to cover, he has been dead for-"
"I'll find out myself."
"You should come inside, I think that you've become confused."
"I'm not confused, I saw him!"
"This is all a trick of your Post traumatic stress disorder."
"I don't have post traumatic stress disorder."
"You know you have it, Sherlock."
"I don't have it, are you going to tell me why he wasn't already dead or not?!"
"There's nothing to tell."
"Typical." Rolling my eyes I turn and begin walking away from Mycroft.
I'll find out by myself.
