He has that look in his eyes again, I can see it now from my seat across from Mycroft. My brother starts into a deducing game with me but my mind is barely on the mental exercise, my eyes not on the street in front of us but rather on him as he stands there against the wall, watching us.
I saw that look the first time I introduced him to Mycroft, the first time he watched us together those many years ago, that slightly saddened glance. And I know why now.
I was puzzled then, and did not fully realize until that business with the watch – did not even know until then that my dear Watson even had a brother.
Had being in the definite past tense, for his own brother had met a rather sordid demise earlier that year, and the fact was still an open wound then, as well I knew. Now that wound has healed, but the scar remains.
And now I can see that his mind is once again traversing a road of the past, far away in years gone by, walking down a well-worn lane of memory in the green countryside of Scotland, wishing for things to be different.
I vow more determinedly to endeavor to be a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.
