"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"
Chapter 6
"Everything is wrong now."
John knew something was wrong the moment Sherlock came home.
The normally very vocal detective, especially when it concerned his older brother and his actions, returned from confronting said relative completely silent.
That alone was enough for the doctor to worry about his best friend…
But it wasn't until he noticed how pale Sherlock was, that he began expecting the worse.
"How'd it go?" Watson asked tentatively, once the curly-haired man plopped down next to him on the worn out couch.
Sherlock didn't respond.
He just continued to stare at the wall in front of him with eyes wide open and more fearful, than he ever saw them.
Finally, after a minute of tense silence, he spoke.
"They were… so empty."
"Sherlock?"
"His eyes…" The detective clarified softly. "They were the only things he couldn't control about himself." He chuckled, though the sound sounded forced and devoid of actual joy. "Even when everything else about him confirms he's saying the truth… like his heart beating evenly, or his hands being dry and cool to the touch… You could always tell he was lying just by seeing the guilt in his eyes."
John stayed silent, waiting for the detective to continue.
"I could always tell, you know? What he was really thinking." The detective's voice came out little louder than a whisper. "It's true what they say about eyes and them being the windows to one's soul, and Mycroft's were the best proof of that." He sighed. "I saw how scared he was each time I got myself in mortal danger, I saw his anger when I did something that threatened his carrier, but more importantly… I saw how hurt he was when our parents tore into him for his actions concerning Eurus."
"Well…" John fidgeted in his seat. "He certainly could have handled it better."
"Could he?" Sherlock whispered, voice still distant. "As days go by I begin to doubt there was a better way…"
"Okay…" The doctor watched his friend with concern in his eyes. "How so?"
"Eurus is… sick. Was, for a very long time." Sherlock leaned over and rested his head in his hands. "Even before we met, she acted unlike a child her age. Possessive of me to a point of drowning my previous best friend in a well… Probably tried to burn Mycroft along with the house for trying to warn our parents… It is fortunate that he survived that encounter, otherwise she would have ended in far worse a facility than Sherrinford." He took a deep breath. "You've seen how she acted once Mycroft's back was turned. She tried to force me to kill one of you for the sake of amusement, murdered other people and messed with their minds, purely because she was bored..."
"The confinement couldn't have helped." John snorted.
"It wasn't his idea." The detective shook his head. "He's only continuing what someone else had already started."
"That uncle Mycroft talked about?"
"Uncle Rudi…" Sherlock spoke quietly, tasting the name against his lips. "The source of all our problems."
"Again, how so?"
"You think Mycroft was born wanting to take over the English Government?"
"Er… wasn't he?"
The detective shook his curly-haired head.
"No. In fact, I believe he wanted to be an artist." He chuckled though the laugh sounded hollow. "Can you imagine that? Mycroft Magnus Holmes… the famous painter of still imagery and fauna." Sherlock's face fell. "And then he stepped into our lives."
"Rudi?"
"Who else?" The detective snorted. "Mummy said he came by one day, after he found out Mycroft helped his son Harry with his math problems. Harry was in his second year in college, while my brother was six." He glared at the window, a frown firmly in place. "Rudi didn't bother asking Mummy for permission. He straight up picked Mycroft up from the kitchen table where he was drawing, and took him for a 'trip'." He sighed. "It was the first of many trips that completely changed both my older sibling's personality and his future."
John swallowed thickly.
"You're telling me… Mycroft has been groomed to become the British Government… since he was six?"
Sherlock simply nodded.
"Jesus Christ…" Watson tried to imagine a sweet, ginger little boy that laughed, giggled and drew beautiful pictures of everything his sharp ice-blue eyes could see, just like any other six year old. He then pictured the same child being forced to abandon his passion, and mercilessly molded into the walking ice-block he is now.
His mind refused to think about what could have made the boy chose 'Caring is not an advantage' as his life motto.
There was just too many things that could badly affect a child's psyche. Way too many.
And, considering this was the Holmes family, whatever happened to make an artistic child full of compassion, curiosity and innocence so guarded and fearful of failure, must have been horrid.
"Mycroft's training under Rudi was nothing short of pleasant, if my mother is to be believed." Sherlock whispered. "The only thing left intact from the child she once knew, was his eyes. The only thing uncle couldn't cover with ice."
"You… said something about them before."
"I have, haven't I?" Another mirthless chuckle. "I called them empty… The only thing that showed any kind of expression, even when he didn't want them to… was completely blank and devoid of emotion, when we had our conversation."
"That's…"
"More than a bit not good, yes." Sherlock added, not allowing his best friend to finish. "It means something is terribly wrong with my brother."
John wriggled in his seat, nervousness obvious in his posture.
"He's going to kill her, John." The detective stated suddenly.
"What?" Watson cried out, disbelief clearly seen covering his face. "He… He can't do that!"
"Why not? He's on top of the government food chain, he practically creates the law we now abide." The detective sighed. "I doubt there will be anyone moronic enough to stand against him if he announced he wanted to… dispose of a dangerous criminal, since he's the one signing all their paychecks."
John bit his lip, he couldn't argue with that logic, though there was something he could raise an objection about in all this.
"Come on, Sherlock, I'm sure he's not being serious." He gently shoved the taller man's shoulder. "I mean, this is Mycroft we're talking about, remember? Brother incarnate with a wee pinch of overprotectiveness?" The doctor then laughed trying to tone down the tension. "He may be a bit gloomy after everything that happened on the island, but there is absolutely no way he's going to let anyone under his protection, die." He then gave his best friend an encouraging smile. "Especially if it's a younger sibling."
But Sherlock didn't look reassured.
"Mycroft didn't act like it."
John tilted his sandy-colored head.
"Like what?"
The detective looked back at him, his own eyes hollow.
"Like it mattered if we're related or not."
He turned away again.
"Eurus is a murderer." Sherlock stated shakily. "So that's how he's going to treat her."
JA107: Hello my amazing readers! :D First I'd like to thank all of you for all the support and encouragement, you've been kind enough to give this lowly author that is myself ;) I'm glad you enjoy this little story, even if the plot is a big gloomy, and promise to improve it with each new chapter added. :D
On a further note, if you like the idea I presented for Mycroft's backstory, you may want to check out my two-shot 'Flying Dreams' where it is explored a bit further. J
Thank you for your attention
Love, JA107