Chapter 3:The Call That Broke The Ice Man~
Mycroft's work for the day was done. Deaths were confirmed. His parents had gone missing. Somehow they were behind the summoning of the black cars that had sped Sherlock ,and young Miss Watson too!, onward to their graves.
It had been an innocent endeavor, the outing that lead to their demise. A brief visit to his parents, pretending to fetch something he'd left at their house, but really to get gift ideas. Sherlock had called Mycroft earlier, to that end.
"Do you remember if Mum already has a water filter?"
"Oh, I see, you're doing me the favor of doing the tedious task of the Christmas shopping..."
"If being very bored,and being coerced into babysitting John Watson's little wife is your idea of a personal favor. You must truly think you rule the world..." Sherlock purred, not meaning to be as malicious as he sounded. Mycroft heard Mary giggling. He smiled. Something inexplicable passed through his thought couldn't call it a"feeling", but it was a thought. Though he had yet to meet John's young wife, she seemed to have really endeared herself to Sherlock. Almost like a sister...
"Well, only part of it ,brother mine..."
"Answer the question-phone calls with you are so incredibly boring,and I would like to hang up soon."
Of course he didn't mean it. Mycroft smiled. That too, was comical, to him. That the closest he and his brother could come to affection, was this constant feuding.
Because they were too cold for feeling. The harshness was as close to a brother's bantering affection that they could come. They couldn't bring themselves to put a stop to it ,either, because then they would become too cold, too lifeless,and lose one another forever.
It hadn't always been like this, there was something ,something when they were young. Before Sherlock's accident...Which Mycroft couldn't well remember, because it had been traumatic, and he had nearly died,and so they didn't talk about it.
"Oi, I don't know, why don't you just ask them?..."
"Mycroft, according to the Watsons, Christmas presents are supposed to be a suprise. It's ...some tradition people made. I guess because they are too polite to tell the person outright their idea of a gift is terrible, so not to waste money on it."
" Then , Sherlock, buy them something, and if they already have one, return thought is what counts. Isn't that what people say?"
"Only because people don't think, don't pay attention to details..."
Mycroft shook his head."Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, brother mine. It seems as though the Prime Minister is on the line. I shall have to call you back?"
"You won't be able to help him either,and don't-"
Sherlock then hung up in his head.
"Goodbye, Sherlock."Mycroft laughed to the silence,and then answered the Prime Minister on the other line.
That would be the last time, in this life, Mycroft Holmes would speak to his little brother...
He was on his knees in his office, panting, about to throw up the doughnut he had neglected to answer his phone over. Why, oh why didn't he answer the phone?
Anthea stood patiently in the doorway, having just delivered the news.
"The policeman, his friend,says maybe he can arrange a way to let you keep his coat?"
"Oh, burn it!"Mycroft gasped,and Anthea, suddenly almost frightened by his pent up ice and fire, floated from the room.
Mycroft continued kneeling there, stomach churning like the hurdy gurdies of gypsies ,on their last march to execution. Why did he not answer the phone?Why couldn't he have bothered himself with his saucy-tounged-annoying-absolutely BELOVED little brother, just one more time?"
Stupid...
But then, even though he hadn't been wishing, nor begging like Doctor Watson(who wasn't too proud to beg)he had received an unlooked for miracle- a phone call, from, well, you know...
"SHERLOCK!"
"So, about the Christmas present, I say we might as well hang it. Did Anthea tell you that Mummy tried to shoot me this afternoon?See,it was a simple observation, cleary you were her favorite. Maybe you can reason with her.."
"WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES, WHERE IN THE NAME OF THE HOLY GOD ARE YOU?!"
"In your lobby,about to ring the door-bell. Oh never mind ,it's broken. Your secretary was being harassed by someone,and ripped it out of the wall, it even has scratch marks, from a table knife."
Mycroft's lips formed a firm line. And then he ran to the room in question.
To find Sherlock, all bloodied and looking like he'd stuck his tounge in a wall socket, with his tousled hair, and the Watsons, not fairing much better in appearance,standing in his lobby. John was crunching on a peppermint from Anthea's little dish. Mary was poking at some fancy looking device on the table.
Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks. He'd never met her before. Now that he saw her, she reminded him very much of a woman that he remembered from his very early childhood. A woman that had given him,and her children up, to save their lives.
"Mum..." he whispered.
"What are you on about, Myc?"Sherlock coughed.
Mary looked confused, John looked up.
"Sherlock! Yes, sorry about your mum, Myc..." John gasped, misunderstanding.
"No...no...it's..."Mycroft drew closer to Mary.
"Sherlock...I think we have alot we need to discuss...Including your accident."
"Doctor Watson has battered me with examinations already ,so there's no need..."
"You really should go to bloody hospital ,Sher-"
"Gentlemen! No,Sherlock, I mean the accident when you were a child."
Sherlock went white...