Sherlock Age: 29
I never really understood shadows. They weren't really what I was interested in, and still now they intrigue me. I can't say that I'm pleased that they make me stop and wonder, because I'm not. They just, inspire me. They are pretty. Featureless. Blank. Perfect. Shadows are flawless. Why can't I be a shadow? What does it feel like to be a shadow? I wave my hand, watching my shadow ripple on the carpet. I'm not a child, I know why they are they, I just. I don't know. We could very easily be going about without shadows. I jiggle my leg, watching it move with me. Attached to me, following my every move. It's like a mirror, but inverted. Intriguing.
"Sherlock. Are you even paying attention?" I look up. Right. Mycroft wanted something,
"Of course brother."
"You do know that this is very important. We're losing more and more..." Boring. I turn toward my shadow again. They are interesting. Not boring at all. Honestly, I don't care about whatever Mycroft is trying to get me to do. I don't want it. He kidnapped me and now he's trying to get me to be his servant. Not going to happen. He grabs my shoulder, "Sherlock. Pay attention." I tear my eyes away from my shadow and stand up,
"You know what Mycroft? You do it."
"I don't think you understand..."
"Oh I do. Perfectly. And I think you should do it."
"Do you even know what's going on?" I clear my throat,
"Of course. And I don't care."
"You don't care that people are dying?"
"Not really my problem. I'm not dying am I? I'm not in immediate danger."
"You could be. I can't believe you're being so selfish."
"Believe it." I stand up, I want to learn more about shadows, I want to take pictures, I want to play with my shadow. At least it will entertain me for a while.
"Sherlock."
"Mycroft, you don't need me."
"Yes I do. Remember what you said. All those years ago?"
"When I said I wouldn't need your help? That I don't need anyone?"
"Where were you?"
"The hospital."
"What did you say after that?" I rack my brains, call forth the memory Sherlock. It's like a computer, you may have deleted it, but there's still a ghost of the images there. Ah.
"Mycroft. What the Hell could you possibly want?"
"Is it so wrong to want to see my younger brother, hoping he hasn't managed to get himself killed?"
"Yes." I looked back up at the ceiling, brooding, wishing that if I ignored my brother, that he might actually leave. "So what is it that you really want?"
"Why did you get yourself shot at Sherlock. And don't bother lying to me, I can always tell when you're lying." I sighed, and then wished I hadn't. My ribs hurt when I breathed to deep.
"I stuck my nose into something I shouldn't have. Happy? Now you can poke fun of me and use this event to your advantage and my expense."
"Do you want me to clear it up for you?"
"Like you could do anything. And I don't need your help." Mycroft looked at me meaningfully,
"Don't need my help? You can't even get out of this bed without help."
"Then I'll stay here until I can. Until then you can leave me alone."
"Sherlock. You are arrogant and totally ignorant. When will you finally admit you need your family?" I looked at him for a moment, the answer was blatantly obvious in my mind. Obviously he needed clarification,
"Mycroft. Never. At least not until they admit they need me. Which will be never. I can do things myself. I'm fine. I don't need anyone."
"Yes you do." I shook my head in disagreement,
"That will never happen. I can hold my own."
"Do you want the whole conversation? Because I have it in transcript." He smiles,
"Enlighten me."
"Eight years ago, almost to the day, you walked into the hospital, finding me in a hospital bed with a hole blown through my side. You called me arrogant and ignorant and then you accused me of needing my family." I'm appalled, and I'm sure it shows on my face. Mycroft nods, good. He follows. "I told you that I would never need them, not until they need me, which will be never." Mycroft nods faster,
"There, you see?"
"And?"
"I need you Sherlock."
"That doesn't mean anything Mycroft."
"You need me."
"No I don't."
"We can help each other."
"No we can't." I head for the door, one hand on the door knob, and I turn back to my brother, "Sorry Mycroft, I'm a bit... Preoccupied. Picked a bad time. You always do." He frowns, as if begging me not to leave. Maybe he really does need me. What was he talking about? I check my phone, and swear under my breath as I hail a cab. I'm late. Why am I always late? I find it funny that Mycroft picks all the really bad days to find some way to kidnap me. Actually, I don't find it funny, I find it annoying. I turn my back to the sun, watching my shadow move to the front of me. I see it. I love my shadow, ti's actually something constant in my life. I have an appointment with Lestrade, and I'm late. And my shadow's mocking me. I sigh. Great. Not what I want. I saunter down the street, I have places to be. Shadows are amazing, and I like them, especially mine. One day the sun will burn out and shadows will be impossible. Food for thought.
Author's Note: The italicized "flashback" is an excerpt from one of my previous stories in 'This Should Be Interesting' entitled, 'A Shot in the Dark' Check it out if you want.
Sorry about not having anything up on Sunday, I think I won't be able to do anything on Sunday's. They have gotten very busy. Tell me what you think? Thanks for all my reviewers so far. I love you all!
Until Gallifrey is free,
Time Lord Victorious