"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"
Chapter 19
"Jester king."
Mycroft had a soft spot for children ever since he was entrusted with the care of Sherlock and Eurus.
He enjoyed being around them, playing with and taking care of them. Oftentimes the royal family required his 'special touch' to calm down the prince and princesses because they don't seem to be able to.
They were an inspiration for him, a soft beacon of light in his dark dark life, a reason to continue doing his best to serve his country faithfully so that they might have a better future.
Hell, he just gave Rosie a piggy-back ride not too long ago and she loved every minute of it.
Mycroft always liked children.
And Sherlock couldn't believe he forgot about that.
"Are you saying," John mumbled, as he helped his daughter get out of the sweaty jacket. "that, in order to bring your brother back from the state that he's in we need to... surround him with children?"
"It's the only thing that hasn't been erased from his mind!" The Detective called from the upper floor. "For all we know the only thing he has disposed of was the emotional connection to me and the rest of our family!" Shuffling could be heard in the room. "But… his fondness towards children, something that wasn't seen as an actual weakness, since he doesn't have kids of his own, was left untouched!"
Sherlock then appeared in the door, eyes ablaze and filled with hope.
"It's the only chance we have, John." He huffed, leaning on the railing. "And I'm going to make it count."
"Okay but, by the looks of it, we'll need more than just one kid, Sherlock." The doctor stated serving Rosie, who was drawing a picture, her supper. "Where exactly do you suppose we get that many children?"
"Rosamund has friends, doesn't she?" Sherlock responded, walking from one wall to another. "We could… throw a party for her, invite all the kids from the kindergarten, have Mycroft watch over them."
"Okay, that sounds simple enough." The good doctor agreed. "How are we going to get him to monitor the kids, though? It's not like we can just walk up to him and ask if he could watch over a bunch of noisy children for a couple of hours. That might have worked a few weeks ago when he still considered himself your brother, but definitely not now."
Sherlock sighed and rested his hands on the armchair.
"I… I don't know John." He admitted weakly. "I don't know how we're going to make this plan work." His fingers dug into the leather. "But we have to at least try."
"Hey… it's alright, Sherlock." John placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We'll make it. We always do."
You look out the window as you drive.
See the dozens of nameless faces, leading dozens of different lives, keeping hundreds upon hundreds of secrets…
Secrets you can see by just looking at them…
These people can't hide anything from you…
Because you see everything.
But that's okay, you're not out to use this ability to hurt them.
Those are lives you are obligated to protect, to keep safe.
Why?
You blink at the sudden question forcing its way to the forefront of your mind, and look away from the window.
'That is my purpose.' You find yourself answering for reasons unknown to you. 'I've been trained to do so. It is my job.'
Why?
You blink again, confused.
'Didn't I just answer that?' You think, fingers absentmindedly tapping on the car seat. 'I do it because that's what I'm meant to do.'
Why?
'Why…' you pull out a cigarette and a lighter from a secret compartment in the car, and lower the windowsill. 'Why does there have to be a why?'
Answer me, Mycroft.
'Why?'
You know why.
'It doesn't change anything.'
It changes everything.
'You're exaggerating.'
Am I exaggerating, or are you hiding from the truth?
'Does it matter?'
It should.
'Why?'
You're deflecting.
'I see no point in this conversation.'
I never took you for a coward.
'Cowardly, no. Uninterested, yes.'
Uninterested… or afraid?
'Knowledge can't hurt me.'
Then why are you hiding?
'I grow wary of this conversation.'
And yet you're still talking to me, my little Jester King.
'...Why did you call me that.'
How else would you call a King who thought he ruled over everything… but was a jester in a little plastic crown all along?
'...'
Your life is a lie, Mycroft. It's time to decide whether or not you want to continue living it, serving those who took away your true identity like the Tool that you were made to be…
Or leave.
You blink, emotionless. Feeling emptier than you've felt in a long long time.
'So that's it… a pawn disguised as a king.'' You think taking in a long breath of smoke. 'Heh… well played… Uncle Rudi.'
Truly… he was the greatest chess player in all of England.
He won the game even before you were old enough to understand the rules.
Played you like… like Sherlock Holmes did the violin. Using, molding you, a mere child, into the perfect tool… the perfect pawn, in his game of chess against fate.
And to think… you wanted to be just like him once.
Heh…
Jester King.
The unobservant Fool of a genius who can see the secret of others, but not his own when he looks into the mirror.
What a fitting title.
It suits me, you think pulling out a brandy bottle out of the hidden compartment.
For a brief moment, as you pour the alcohol, you wish you could be more than that.
A Blind Fool.
A perfect Pawn.
A multifunctional tool.
A Jester King…
But then you realize… there is nothing else out there for you.
Old Dogs can't be taught new tricks…
And you're an old old dog with your master living in your head. Always there, always listening...
What would you even do?
Where would you go?
Who would even care?
Then in a flash you remember…
A small smiling face, bright eyes shining in happiness and warmth, hands outstretched to him, begging to be picked up…
'The girl…' You think, trying to hold on to the memory, the feeling of warmth of acceptance, of happiness… 'What… was her name?'
You can't recall.
Tick tock, Jester King.
What are you going to do?
'...I don't know.' You answer truthfully.
'I just...don't know.'