I.

25 December 2014

Christmas Day

2:00pm

IV.

Mycroft looked down at his watch and sighed. "Oh dear God! it's only two o'clock. It's been Christmas day for at least a week now. How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony."

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mummy asked.

"Upon which depends the security of the free world, yes, and you've got potatoes on it."

"Well you shouldn't leave it lying around if its so important."

"Why are we doing this? we never do this."

"We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy."

"Am I happy too? I haven't checked."

Sherlock was sitting quietly reading the newspaper while Mycroft and mother squabbled.

It was a reversal of tradition as usually Sherlock was the one who couldn't sit still.

The homeless man startled Mummy then by offering her some punch, and after a discussion about his odd inheritance beliefs, Mummy left the room to give Mary her tea.

Mycroft rose to his feet. "This day is intolerable! I'm going out for a fag."

"Have some punch before you go," Sherlock said. "I'll join you in a moment."

The strange homeless man held out a glass and Mycroft took it. He took a sip and then placed it on the table before walking through the house and outside.

Standing beside the front gate, Mycroft patted his coat pockets down.

II.

Damn! I was sure that I had my cigarette case before.

Without a dose of nicotine I'll never make it all the way through to dinner. If I wasn't concerned about Mummy and Daddy getting robbed and murdered, I wouldn't have bother to stay.

What possessed Sherlock to invite the Watsons to dinner? Mary Watson should never have met our parents. Why did I let Sherlock convince me to allow it?

I've gone soft.

IV.

The front door opened then, and Sherlock came out. His skin was a healthy color instead of the pale white it had been in hospital. Mycroft smiled with his eyes, but he didn't let the expression reach his mouth. "I don't appear to have brought my cigarettes," Mycroft said.

Sherlock reached into his coat and pulled out Mycroft's gold cigarette case. He took out one and then held it open while Mycroft took his.

"Still practicing petty theft, I see."

"And you still can't catch me at it," Sherlock said with a smirk.

Mycroft took the case from him and pocketed it before lighting Sherlock's cigarette and then his own. He took a puff and blew the air out again before saying, "I should point out that having just recovered from a severe injury, you really shouldn't be smoking."

"Let's save the discussion of what might or might not kill me in the future to another day shall we? I've already died once this year."

II.

Yes, he did die. And I have never been more shocked in my life.

I had known that there was a possibility that he would die when he was undercover destroying Moriarty's net, but somehow I never really believed that it would happen.

Illogical, I know, but like the members of his fan club, I almost came to believe the myth that Sherlock Holmes would never die.

It wasn't until I saw him on that operating table looking like a fragile child with a soul that was only a hair's breath away from leaving this word forever that I remembered that he was made of bones and blood like any other man.

In my heart, I imagined him to be a legend like King Arthur, or a great hero like St. George and the dragon. For Sherlock has always been able to do the things that I never could do, because he is willing to take the risks that I never would.

IV.

"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business."

"Are you?"

"I'm still curious though. It's hardly your usual kind of...puzzle. Why do you... hate him so?"

"Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don't you?"

"He never causes too much damage to anyone important. He's far to intelligent for that. He's a business man that's all, and occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a dragon for you to slay."

"A dragon slayer. Is that what you think of me?"

"No. It's what you think of yourself."

The door opened then and the two of them struggled to hide their cigarettes as Mummy called out "Are you two smoking?"

"No," Mycroft said.

While Sherlock said "It was Mycroft!"

Mother frowned at them both and went inside not fooled at all. As soon as she was gone they resumed smoking as if she had never been there.

"I have, by the way a job offer I would like you to decline," Mycroft said.

"I decline your kind offer."

"I shall pass on your regrets."

"What was it?"

"M.I.6, they want to place you back into Eastern Europe. An undercover assignment that would prove fatal to you in ... I think about six months."

"Then why don't you want me to take it?"

How flippant! Mycroft thought turning to face him. "It's tempting, but on balance you have more utility closer to home."

"Utility, how do I have utility?" Sherlock asked.

"Here be dragons."

II.

What's in this cigarette? I feel light-headed.

IV.

"This isn't agreeing with me. I'm going in."

"You need low tar," Sherlock said. "You still smoke like a beginner."

II.

After all this time, Sherlock still doubts me. He doubts himself.

And I almost let him die without ever having told him how much I love him.

IV.

Mycroft stopped in front of the door.

"Also..." he said. I should tell him while I have the chance. "Your loss would break my heart."

Sherlock coughed. "What the hell am I supposed to say to that?"

"Merry Christmas?" Mycroft replied.

"You hate Christmas."

"Yes, perhaps there was something in the punch?"

"Clearly, go and have some more."

Mycroft walked into the house feeling lighter of heart but a bit disoriented in mind.

Confession had somehow made him feel tired. He sat at the kitchen table at put down his head as he hadn't done since he was a child. "Mummy, I'm not feeling well," he said before everything around him went black.