I. 18 May 2014
Earthquake in Japan. The Pope ends his visit to India. Forecast: Sunny. A beautiful day for a wedding.
II.
Twenty minutes on the walker, completely winded, but the tummy does seem a wee bit tighter. The phone rings.
IV.
"Yes what, Sherlock?
"Why are you out of breath?
"Filing."
"Either I've caught you in a compromising position, or you've been working out again. I favor the latter."
"What do you want?"
"I need your answer, Mycroft. It's a matter of urgency."
"Answer?"
II.
The sounds of glass clinking in the background, happy voices... Sherlock is at a party. A party? Oh yes. How could I have forgotten?
IV.
"Today, it's today, isn't it? No Sherlock, I will not be coming to the 'night do' as you so poetically put it."
"What a shame, Mary and John will be extremely ..."
"...delighted not have me hanging around."
"Oh I don't know. There should always be a spectre at the feast."
II.
No. I can't go to John Watson's wedding. To see him binding himself to some woman. Happy. To have him frown when I enter the room. I haven't approached him. Not since... how could I? And I fear that even if Sherlock is too distracted with his own emotions to see, that Mary would notice. She is a very perceptive woman. She would surely see the envy in my eyes. The way I envy the ones who have won John's heart.
I can't believe that it is finally happening, Sherlock parting from John. I had better get the spare room ready. It won't be long before Sherlock needs a shoulder to cry on, so to speak.
IV.
"I suppose I'll be seeing a lot more of you from now on."
"What do you mean?"
"Just like old times."
II.
After Sherlock's speech about friendship, I had begun to wonder if I really was...lonely. Anthea was willing, but it never felt right, No point in destroying a working relationship in search of a dubious attachment.
It will be reassuring to see more of Sherlock though. Like a fine brandy, he has mellowed a bit with age. Even so, it is sad to see the old team break up. It's the end of an era.
IV.
"...I prefer to think of it as the beginning of a new chapter."
II.
A new chapter? Can he possible be so naive? Doesn't he know that John is leaving him for good?
Poor Sherlock. Someone needs to break the news to him.
IV.
"This is what people do, Sherlock, they get married, I warned you. Don't get involved."
"Involved, I'm not involved."
"No."
"John asked me to be his best man, how could I say no?"
"Absolutely."
"I'm not involved."
"I believe you, really, I do. Have a lovely day, and do give the happy couple my best."
"I will."
"Oh by the way, Sherlock, Do you remember, Redbeard?
"I'm not a child anymore, Mycroft."
"No, of course you're not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock."
III.
I lied when I told Moriarty that Sherlock's favorite childhood story was Hansel and Gretel. His favorite story was the tale of the two Barbarossa brothers, both known as Redbeard the pirate.
He loved the story so much, that he named his dog after them. Redbeard had to be put down in the end.
Oh! Sherlock must have been thinking of that when he said that he was not a child, of crying or perhaps being put down.
Sherlock cried and cried when Redbeard died, but that wasn't what I was referring to at all.
I was remembering a curly haired boy in blue pajamas sitting in his bed while I read to him from The Great Book of Pirate Stories. When we would get to the part where the Sultan Soliman allowed his closest and best advisor Ibrahim to be killed by his woman, Roxalana. Sherlock would jump to his feet and yell. "He should have killed her! Ibrahim was clever. She was just jealous of him. I will never let emotions influence my decisions like he did."
"Ah, but love changes people. At least that's what they say."
"I'll never love anyone, then. I'll be like Redbeard 'a body, a brain, and an intellect, without any trace of a heart.' "
"An excellent ambition, Sherlock,"
It had been my own ambition as well. We would be two heartless pirate brothers ruling our own empire, and the whole of the civilised world would quail at the name of Holmes, or so we had thought. But now, Sherlock has broken his promise not to love. For it is obvious to the dullest observer that he loves John Hamish Watson as deeply as the Sultan had loved his Roxalana.
No, I won't go to the wedding. I can not bear to watch Sherlock's painfully earnest attempts to show his love to John by acting ... normal. I refuse to witness such a thing, just as I refuse to look at John, awash in appreciation of his new bride and his dearest friend, John, immaculately dressed in his tailored suit, John, warm, bright, and glowing on his wedding day.
I am the eldest. I must keep my mind clear, cold, and able to reason, and I will do so, even if it means cutting out my own heart.