I can't help but to stare. Despite how strong he appears, standing tall in his black suit and purple tie, I can see the dark devastation swirling in his blue-green eyes. This paired with how he's smiling at me like I'm some sort of hero makes my chest hurt. I opt to sit. There are two chairs in the hallway, across from each other. He waits for people to pass before he speaks.
"So, you're…" He pauses, as if it is hard to utter his name, "…Sherlock's sister." I nod in reply and he nods to himself. Lestrade passes and offers his condolences to John and me, nodding his head to me before leaving as a sort of cop-to-cop respect thing. I returned it, but my attention was immediately turned back to John.
"He never mentioned a sister, let alone Mycroft's twin," He was still smiling and I wondered how he could do it. I was having gut-wrenching pains and I didn't even experience half the hardship he did. I licked my lips. He was in the military. He must be used to death. He must be used to funerals.
"I was never around. I left when Sherlock was eleven. I studied abroad and ended up staying," I replied.
"Ah, good old America, ey?" He asked and I nodded. Mycroft had made his way through the throng of people and stood in the middle of the hall a few feat away from us. We both turned our heads to look up at his tall figure to his empty face. It held no emotion save seriousness. Mycroft was always quite serious; even as a child.
"Yes. Mother never was too happy about that," He said, lifting his head a little bit. His hands were shoved into the deep pockets of his suit pants and he was looking back and forth between John and I.
"But was she ever happy about anything?" I muttered, shaking my head. This wasn't a time for family feuds. John looked perplexed and I gave him a questioning look. He sat back in his chair and voiced what was bothering him.
"You're blond," He said, taking me by surprise. I actually chuckle a small, painful chuckle. Mycroft, however is unamused.
"Hairdye, John. She worked very hard to hide from me. I am quite good at finding people. Naturally she would be a dark ginger color," He said with a little smirk. I rolled my eyes at him and blinked a few times. I actually had missed my brothers. My parents I dealt with being away from, but my brothers were my heart and soul and it had killed me every day, week, month, and year to be so far from them; especially my twin.
"I was always the mix child. Sherlock got dark, Mycroft ginger, and I both. Sherlock the heightened intelligence, Mycroft the secrecy and so on..." John laughed a little bit. I actually felt better now that the mood was lightened. Being with the two of them made this day much more bearable.
"That's fantastic. I can definitely tell you and Mycroft are twins." We looked at each other, Mycroft and I, and he actually gave me a small, soft smile. It was completely out of character, but I was pretty sure it happened. I don't hallucinate often.
"Where will you be staying?" Mycroft asks me, now back to his sort of stoic, emotionless look. He's leaning on his umbrella, which I smile at. He's always had an umbrella.
"Um, my flights not for another two days. Which reminds me I need to call an inn or something, though I'm not sure how I'll afford two nights hotel fee. Cop's salary, yeah?" I joked, but this was an expensive trip. It had cost me this month's pay just to get here and it'll take another two weeks to pay off the uncomfortable bed I'll probably sleep in.
"Well-" Mycroft begins, but John cuts him off.
"You can stay in our-I mean my flat." I've heard lately he's had a little trouble keeping up with rent, but Mrs. Hudson has let him go because she loves the boy like he's her son.
"I couldn't, I mean..."I start, but John's hand goes into the air, flat and commanding.
"I insist. There's an empty bedroom and a whole empty flat when I'm at the clinic." I open my mouth to refuse, but his argument is convincing.
"Alright, then. My things are in the back room. I've rented a car if you would like me to drive us over there." He shakes his head and I'm a little confused.
"I'll take a taxi and meet you there, yeah?" I blink and nod slowly. He's got a strange sort of postpartum depression thing setting in, yet no one has attempted to pull him out of his hole. I stand and so does he. Mycroft and he exchange a look before they both set off into the rain, leaving me alone with myself. I run to the back room and grab my black suitcase and laptop messenger and then exit out the back door. The rain is coming down hard, but I don't mind. It actually feels good to be soaked and cold, for some off reason. A I get into the car, I throw my things in the back and sit there for a minute. Tomorrow, we bury him...