"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"
Chapter 14
"A hero's broken spirit, if not tended to properly, might grow into one of a true monster."
Mycroft is one, and is already perfectly capable of Reading on his own.
Mycroft is two, and filled out a crossword puzzle that his father has been stuck on.
Mycroft is three, and just won his first chess match against Siger.
Mycroft is four, and discusses philosophy with some of the best professors Oxford could offer.
Mycroft is five, and has mastered his second musical instrument: the piano.
Mycroft is six and tells his parents he wants to be an artist. Like Leonardo da Vinci.
Mycroft is seven, and has become the proud big brother of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes.
Mycroft is eight, and suddenly… he's a complete stranger.
He's been changed.
Reshaped.
Rewritten.
Remodeled.
Gone were his timid smiles when he won against his father in chess.
Gone were the passionate discussions about topics he should have no knowledge about.
Gone was that sparkle in his sharp icy-blue eyes, when he mastered another instrument.
Gone were the pretty pictures he doodled during a break in his preschool.
Gone was his desire to be an artist.
Gone… was the Mycroft she loved.
Instead, the Stranger locks himself in her son's room with countless law and politic-related books, and refuses to come out to anything unrelated to dinner.
If he wasn't there, he was out spending "quality time" with her older brother, Rudolph.
He was home but never home.
It wouldn't be so bad if… if he hadn't started to deteriorate.
He stopped eating properly leaving 90% of his meal on the plate, started sleeping less and disappearing during late hours of the night, chased out of his home by the shrill of a phone.
His skin, already pale, was turning paler with every day as this sickness continued to leech away at the little boy's health.
But, as the skin around his face grew more porcelain in color, the one under his eyes grew ever darker with each all-nighter he pulled.
And that was before the nightmares began.
One day, on the day of his eight birthday, the Stranger came home looking pale as a ghost.
Hugging himself and shaking the entire time Rudolph gently carried him into their home, silent tears tickling down his pale cheeks.
Her brother refused to tell her what happened.
He only said it was necessary, if a bit cruel on his part.
"It will give him strength for what awaits him in the future." He said, ever cryptic.
He never told her what exactly the Stranger had to be so ready for.
That night… the screams began.
The Stranger wailed in his sleeps, using her son's voice as he cried.
He pleaded for his uncle to not do it, that there had to be another way.
But whatever he was trying to prevent happened anyway, giving segue to the surprised yelp that will be heard echoing down the hallway for years to come.
It made her wonder what her brother exposed her eldest to, to make him scream like that.
She didn't have time to calm him though… those nightmare terrors always woke her other children, ones that needed her care more than the Stranger did.
Siger tried to help.
It didn't bring lasting effects.
After one peaceful night, the screaming returned with double the intensity.
The Stranger didn't let himself be comforted after that.
He barely even spent time with anyone once the nightmares started.
He ignored his baby brother, claiming to have a lot more important things to focus on than playing with him.
When she confronted him about it and demanded he tell her what those "other things" are, he said he couldn't tell. That it was classified.
He refused to say anything more,
She watched him, the Stranger in her boy's body, as he grew.
Changing more and more from the smiling eight-year-old Mycroft she remembered.
His eyes that once could lighten up an entire room with their light, were filled with a darkness that shouldn't occupy the orbs of a young child.
The Stranger in her child's body saw something that snuffed out all his innocence.
It scared her.
She stopped looking him in the eyes when he talked to her.
His face never smiled anymore.
It was always a blank look, revealing nothing of the emotions he felt.
She remembered when that same face used to be an open book to whoever looked at it.
Now… now she wasn't sure he even knew how to emote, anymore.
She never thought there would be a day when she missed the constant childish bickering between her two sons.
But their lack was breaking her heart more than she could ever admit.
Because the Stranger never argued, never fought for what was his, never even complained.
Not even when Sherlock destroyed his favorite chess board in a fit of irritation.
The Stranger just… blinked at the broken wood, and walked away.
Not saying a thing.
It was as if someone sucked out all the humanity out of him, and left nothing but an empty husk.
Rudolph was changing him into a monster.
And she let it happen.
Because it was easier to just ignore the problem, than deal with it.
She had two other children to take care of, after all.
Sherlock and Eurus needed her, so she focused on them...
And tried to ignore the empty eyes of the Stranger in her eldest's body, as she turned her back on him.
Leaving him at the mercy of Rudolph Holmes and his plans.
Violet shook her head at the paused recording on the screen, eyes teary and shaky hand reaching out to the broken man on the video before her.
"Oh Mycroft..." Her voice broke. "What have I done?"
"A lot of things you shouldn't." Cassandra said nodding to Anthea who retreated to stand besides her, she wasn't going to be merciful. Not to these people. Not after what they put poor Mycroft through. "As well as 'nothing' in situations when one would typically warrant taking serious action."
Violet shook her head, tears still flowing and steely eyes focused on the man on the paused screen.
"Had I known..."
"It was right there, in the very open." The psychologist narrowed her wise eyes. "The signs of suffering have been there from the very beginning, you cannot tell me you haven't seen them at the earliest stage. Your son didn't have the necessary control to cover them up properly." She shook her head. "No… you must have known something terrible was happening, but… for whatever reason, chose to ignore it..." She leaned back, her body easily slipping into the position she usually took while listening to a patient. "Why? Why ignore the silent pleas for help, when it clear vocalisation of said pleas is not an option?" She folded her hands over her stomach as her eyes watched the younger woman. "Why didn't you help your son?"
Violet didn't look away from the screen as she answered.
"It… was a sacrifice I was willing to make."
Cassandra's eyes narrow dangerously.
"Sacrifice?"
"If I took Mycroft from him." The mother hissed. "He… he might have gone after Sherlock and Eurus next. God knows what he would have done to them. With Sherlock's unresponsiveness to authority, and Eurus's unpredictability, he might have restored to-" She shook the through away "I… I had to protect them."
"So, in order to save the remaining children… you allowed him to have the one with the trap's teeth already imbedded in his flesh."
The Holmes mother looked away from the screen then, as if not being able to look Mycroft in the eyes even if it's just a frozen recording of him.
"...It was for the best."
"A… necessary evil, you mean?" The psychologist asked.
"Better one than three."
Cassandra frowned.
"Is 'none' not an option?"
"Not with my brother, it wasn't." Violet shook her head. "If he wanted something, he was going to get it. One way or another."
Ms. Anders sighed.
"What your brother wanted was an heir to his proverbial throne." She shook her head. "Both Sherlock and Eurus do not possess the proper qualities to rule a kingdom from the shadows."
"I know that now but… back then..."
"Back then you still saw that whatever Rudolph was doing to Mycroft, was taking away his identity. Destroying the person he was and turning him into someone better suited for your older brother's goal." Cassandra's eye narrowed even more. "Why didn't you do anything?"
"..." The Holmes parent sat silently for a second. "He never said anything about wanting it to stop." She swallowed thickly. "I thought he wanted whatever Rudy was preparing him for."
"You're Implying that an eight-year-old boy can object to his guardian's wishes." The psychologist shook her wise head. "No. Choice is something your eldest never had the privilege of having. At least not when it comes to his personal life."
"Maybe Mycroft couldn't back out of it then, when he was a child." Violet's eyes sparked with determination as she finally turned to face Ms. Anders. "But what about when he got older? Why didn't he leave then?"
Cassandra gave the woman a pitying look.
"When, Ms. Holmes? Your brother died a day before Mycroft's nineteenth birthday, and your son has been pushed into his position before his body had the chance to cool." She shook her head. "By the time he was old enough to potentially step away, your brother was... assassinated, and that door has been shut for good."
"..."
Violet went quiet.
"So you see, Ms. Holmes." Cassandra sighed. "Your son had no choice but to become what he was trained to be."
"Was there truly no one else?" Siger's small voice asked, from his spot besides his wife. "Was Mycroft really the only one who could take Rudolph's place?"
Cassandra turned to him, noticing how the way he was sitting made him look smaller than he really was.
"He was the only one both chosen by and well versed in Rudolph's ways of leading a country." Anthea answered, leaning against the wall. "He may not have been the only one capable of taking the position, but he was the best candidate."
"Oh..." Siger fell silent after that, staring at his hands helplessly.
Cassandra sighed.
"There is much you have to atone for, my dears."
"Y-You said it's too late." Violet looked up.
"It is." Cassandra confirmed. "But you still don't know the full extent of your parental failure." She leaned back.
"Otherwise you'll never know why your son was forced into the state he is in today."