Chapter 15: His Last Client
For a long time, Mycroft and Sherlock sat stiffly side by side, as the long black car, slid snake-like down streets ,creeping back to London,taking many detours, to the half-burned warehouse where it all began, and where it all would end.
Mycroft was chewing his lip, refusing to cry in the presence of the enemy. But he would die tonight, not in the body,perhaps, but certainly in the soul. He was already reliving the terrible day he had forgotten, when he pulled his brother from the same ashen place to which they now returned, a hundred times per mile.
"I had entirely forgotten they had left it standing; it is ,after all, the perfect place for a burning! "Jim laughed, from somewhere up front. Then he frowned, in the rear-view mirror.
"You boys can talk...You know, you won't get any other chances to, so now might be a good time."
Brightly lit up cars were passing by them, people about their daily lives, not living under the shadow that the Holmes boys always had. Briefly, Mycroft wondered what it would be like to be part of their silly, little world...
Sherlock flinched, terror rising like a fever in his blood. Still he kept a straight face, and for the upteenth time since he'd been alive, Mycroft marveled at his strength. But he was absolutley terrified, reliving his last fire, too.
So, Mycroft, ever the caring big brother, to the very end, reached around the cuffs, and clutched Sherlock's clammy hand.
"There's no need for words right now..." he replied, raising his nose in the air, as if to show Jim he wasn't about to stoop to his level. Lindor drove past Baker Street on purpose, just as a strange ,old man came staggering to the front door, and rang the bell.
"Thought you might like to check up on the granny; she'll weep buckets, it won't even need to rain for weeks around here!Oh, look a client,Sherlock! You won't ever have any more of those, now will you? Because tonight I'm retiring you...Hey,why the long face?You should be rejoicing...They light fires for celebrating..."
"Jim Moriarty, I should like to inform you that every thing you say will most definately be used against you when this does go to court..."Mycroft said,voice almost robotic.
"Oh?Is that a threat?"
"That is a promise. Now, if you don't mind, I know that you will make my brother's passing a severe ordeal. However,his last moments belong to me ,and I suggest you let us have them, or I'll break your nose in half."
With a huff, Jim turned around.
"Thank you, Myc..."Sherlock muttered. Mycroft motioned for Sherlock to lay his head on his chest. He looked at him, confused. For the upteenth time, Mycroft swallowed his tears.
"Lay down ,Sherlock. You'll need all the strength you have for the task ahead of you."
Sherlock nodded,and laid his head trustingly on Mycroft's chest. Mycroft swallowed. He trusted him, even after all the times during the Hiatus that he had nearly NOT saved him, even now when he was just holding him, like the trusting lamb, on his way to slaughter...
"Wonder who that was at the door? Might have been a good case..."Sherlock muttered, absent- mindedly...
Mycroft allowed himself to weep in his mind, though now his eyes were too glassy to form tears...
"No, it was most likely extremely boring. Stolen watch or something..."
Mycroft could kick himself for saying that. A stolen watch implied stolen time, to him at this instance, at least. And if anybody was robbed of time, it was Mycroft Holmes ...