Spoilers: 2.3,The Reichenbach Fall.
A/N: Okay, so I don't remember if I've mentioned this before or not, but this was originally going to be a 'five times/one time' story. As you can probably tell, it evolved into something much bigger than I expected. But a part of my original plan did go post-Reichenbach, so I'm just getting to that now. So if you haven't seen that episode and wish to avoid spoilers (if you have already, can I just congratulate you? Nearly every story summary on here contains a spoiler of some description), I'm afraid you'll have to make a legal U-turn here. Sorry. For those of you who can keep reading, we're almost at the end. But this story keeps growing. At the moment there should be two more chapters after this one. I'll let you all read on now...
Mycroft still has the key to this house. Too many memories stored within these walls for him to simply throw the key away. He has allowed the garden to grow wild and the house to fall into disrepair. He keeps an eye on it from a distance but that is as far as it goes. It is not his job to look after it; Mycroft has better things to do with his time these days.
The immaculate, black government car looks very out of place as it makes its way along the cracked tarmac lane and to the old house. Through tinted windows he can see the seeding grass on the lawn. There was a time when Sherlock could have hidden in that grass just to avoid the punishment for whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into. Mycroft doesn't allow himself to hope for that any more.
A shadow passes over his face as he thinks of his late brother. The situation makes no logical sense to Mycroft whatsoever. He was supposed to die first, of old age if he was lucky, not the other way around. Mycroft shouldn't be going to the place of his eventful childhood and collecting Sherlock's possessions. But he is, and it's slowly ripping him apart from the inside.
He tries not to let it show, but Anthea knows him well enough by now – she can see the pain behind every faked smile of amusement. The car comes to a stop just outside the door, and Mycroft finds himself staring at it like an awed child. The driver opens the car's door and Mycroft snaps out of it; gathering the scraps of his composure and sticking them down with blu-tack.
Once out of the car, Mycroft puts up his umbrella. The rain is only starting to fall, but already the house appears to take on a darker shade of grey. The creeping ivy once below the living room window has reached the first floor and Mycroft's old bedroom window. Mycroft holds the umbrella out so Anthea can at least stay dry. She slips her BlackBerry into her pocket.
"Which way is it to Mister Holmes' room, sir?" she asks. The driver hands her a cardboard box and gets back into the car to wait for them.
"Not to worry, I'll take you there myself," replies Mycroft. He doesn't know why he said that, he knows he can never set foot in that room again. He'll stand at the door and watch, just like he always did. Yes. He'll do that. He reaches into his jacket pocket for the key. It's a little rusty but then so is the lock. He tries his best to ignore the profanities spray-painted onto the wood by some unknown hooligans. The key sticks but through sheer force of will on Mycroft's part, the lock clicks and the door opens wide. "After you."
The plastic flowers in the vase are just how he remembers them, only a little dustier. In fact the rest of the house has taken on a lot of dust in almost twenty years. It has also become eerily quiet, and for once Mycroft finds himself wishing for an argument with his little brother. He could really put up a fight, just not with insane criminal masterminds.
Anthea peers at him and says, "Sir?" which brings him out of his contemplation.
Mycroft clears his throat. "Hmm. Sorry. This way," he says, sounding a little distracted. Anthea follows him upstairs and he stops outside Sherlock's door. He allows Anthea to open it. He leans rather heavily on his umbrella.
Anthea lets out a little gasp when she opens the door and Mycroft's gaze lifts from the old carpet. He suddenly feels sick.
The room has been completely trashed. The wardrobe knocked over; splinters of wood everywhere and sticking out of the carpet like miniature spears. The same has happened to the table beside the bed, and it looks like it was bashed with a hammer a few times. The lamp's bulb is smashed, as is the bulb for the light. The sheets on the bed have been ripped to shreds as if something with massive claws has swiped it. There are spots of dried blood on the sheets along with random lines of yellow spray paint. The walls too have been spray-painted with squiggles and symbols and words which Mycroft will never be able to forget.
"Close the door," he says. His voice is distant and sounds wrong. Anthea gets the message and gently closes the door. She places supportive a hand on his shoulder lightly, but the weight of it sends Mycroft to his knees anyway. He hasn't cried yet. He won't start now.
He uses his umbrella to pull himself upright. "You... you won't find anything in there worth salvaging," he tells Anthea.
She glances at the box in her hands. "Then what shall we tell Doctor Watson, sir?"
Mycroft bites his lip in thought. "Tell him there's nothing left. This is probably some sort of taunt from one of Moriarty's henchmen. Best to ignore it. Actually, I'll tell him. It's my burden to—" He pauses, before: "...bear." He allows himself the tiniest of smiles. "Wait here." He briskly walks to his old bedroom door. His room is untouched which is something of a relief. His old wardrobe has a mirror on one door. He looks the same as he always does, but underneath he is more battered and bruised.
He opens the wardrobe and reaches down. Beside and old pair of shoes is something soft and cuddly. He lifts it out and into the light. The fur is old and the fabric beneath has become stiff with age. But there it – he is: Teddy. Mycroft breathes onto Teddy's nose and gives it a quick polish. He looks at his refection in the black oval and is instantly returned to his childhood when he would watch his lips move as he talked to his beloved teddy bear. His lips are moving now as they say, "Anthea, I've got something. Let's go."