"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 21

"Would it matter?"

There was a time when Sherlock almost thought he was back.

"Do you want to go back?"

"Go back to what?"

"To who you once were." Sherlock clarified, looking deep into the eyes that seemed so alien now. Watching, searching for some sort of reaction. "Everybody's waiting. They want you to come home."

"I am home." Came the cold response. "This is who I was always meant to be." There is conviction that wasn't there before, one that runs so deep the detective wasn't sure he would be able to talk his brother out of it.

"But don't you miss it?" He pressed, tiny specs of desperation starting to color his tone. "The feelings? The emotions?" The care?

Mycroft snorted.

"A prisoner can hardly miss his chains, Mr. Holmes."

"So you do remember." Sherlock didn't know if he should be relieved or distraught.

"I remember… a lot of things." Mycroft looked at him, his eyes thawing away the biting ice surrounding their irises, and revealing the soul below.

For the first time since this whole thing started, there was no Iceman to hide behind, no ice to cover up the open wounds… no barriers to hide the gaping cracks.

Sherlock is finally, finally, talking with his brother again.

The realisation nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

"Mycroft I…" He started, having to stop and wipe away the tears that gathered in his eyes. "I missed you so much." The detective said, bearing his heart out to the older man, something he hasn't done in years.

And, for a brief second, he could swear Mycroft's eyes softened and his lips twisted in a sad smile. Before returning to their neutral state.

"I can't stay." The older brother said, as if discussing something as simple and benign as staying over for the weekend instead of… instead of… "You know I can't."

"Mycroft this has to end." The younger detective insisted, his voice cracking at the last word. "Everyone-there is so much pain, this… this thing you did… it's tearing everyone apart."

Because what else could you call what was happening to this family?

"..." It was odd how calmly Mycroft was reacting to all this. It wasn't how Sherlock was hoping he'd react at all. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." The detective pleaded, not knowing what else to do. "Just come back home."

Please.

"I can't." Mycroft shook his head, hand gripping the top of his umbrella tighter than he should. "Not anymore."

"Stop playing games, Mycroft!" Sherlock suddenly yelled, sounding much younger than he really was. "This isn't funny anymore!"

He always did that. Ran back to his childish way of demanding his older brothers' change of behavior, to bend him to his will whenever things didn't go the way he planned.

It was like a magic spell that fixed everything, made things right again.

But this wasn't a game, and they're not children anymore.

So Mycroft just looked at him with pity.
"Unfortunately, dear boy, reality doesn't bow to the will of even the mightiest of men." He said, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "Accept it and move on."

"I don't want to move on." Sherlock whispered, hands clenched into tight fists. "I want my brother back."

"Do you really?" Came the sad response, icy eyes scanning the younger man's face.
"Yes! We all do!" Sherlock insisted vehemently, his own eyes burning with total conviction. "Everyone's so very sorry. They want you back so they can apologise and make up for everything that's happened." He said, barely stopping himself from grabbing his brother by the shoulders and shaking them. "Please just… come back so they can prove it to you."
Mycroft didn't reply, just kept searching for something on the detective's face, silently listening to the fiery declarations.

"Mycroft please." Sherlock begged, not for the first time since the whole debacle started. "We want what's best for yo-"

"No." The older man cut him off suddenly, seemingly having found what he was looking for. "No, I don't think you do."

That short sentence felt like a slap to the face.

"Mycroft what-"
"You want what's best for me." The last words were spat as if they were made of poison. "Come now, Mr. Holmes, how naive do you think I am?" Mycroft's eyes hardened and the Iceman was back once more. "This whole mess you keep bringing up? Despite what you want me to believe, it isn't about me, it was never about me. It was about you and your selfish parents." He said, and thought he did not raise his voice, it's tone was thunderous and booming. Like an upcoming storm brewing in the clouds.

"How can you say tha-" Sherlock tried to protest.

"Oh please, Mr. Holmes." The Iceman spread his hands as if inviting him to strike. "Do debate me, do try and prove me wrong." He then lowered them, face still that perfect mask of utter neutrality despite the clear sarcasm present in his voice. "Let us see if you're even half the brilliant man the public makes you out to be."

Sherlock steeled his resolve and looked into his brother's eyes.

Those were the eyes of a champion that already knows the outcome of his challenge.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." The detective shot out first, appealing to Mycroft's brotherly love. "I wouldn't be here if mother and father weren't trying to mend their mistakes."

But the Iceman only scoffed.

"Please, we both know you wouldn't be here, trying so desperately to fix things, if this 'situation' didn't affect you. And neither would your parents. Oh don't look so offended, Mr. Holmes, you know I'm right." Mycroft said, voice stern, before huffing a short laugh. "It's the truth of the matter, isn't it? You want me back because you can't handle a reality where I'm no longer there as the responsible one, and there is nothing more to it."

"..." For a long time the detective remained silent before speaking. "You can't believe that."

"And whyever not? After all..." The elder brother smiled a mirthless smile. "You only came looking for me once things started affecting Eurus." The smile transformed into a smirk. "And it's only after I refused to be lenient towards her, when you collectively decided to try and find a way to 'fix' me."

"..."

"I see a pattern, Mr. Holmes, and I refuse to be part of it any longer." Mycroft's words carried an air of finality to them that made Sherlock's skin crawl.

"You won't, I promise." The desperation was clear in his voice now. "Just give them a chance." Sherlock begged. He couldn't remember the last time he begged his brother for something and meant it.

But Mycroft only looked at him with a look of pity on his face.

"I'm afraid you can't promise that, ." He said, his voice a soft whisper filled with sadness and grief.

There was ice in his eyes.

"Do not contact me again."

And then he was gone.

AN: I know it's a little short but I swear the next one will be longer