06/26/13 Um, I'm sorry? I may have forgotten about this... *shrugs* my grandmother stayed over for a while. She's in her eighties so you wouldn't think about going out much. Right. She's more like that little old lady that will outlive everyone because she won't slow down to give death the time of day. Heading to restaurants, or just going out walking. I walked to Tim Hortons with her for breakfast. Walked, no cane or walker etc. and some of it uphill. I did mention she's in her eighties, yes? Either way was out of the house a lot.
Anyway- I might have remembered sooner if I'd received a review notice after she left.
If you read 'The Least' (05/21/13) you'll probably recognize some of the format of the first bit. This section is the one I referenced as what I was supposed to be writing. There was more than a week in between part4 completion and part5 starting with a beginning that I finally liked. This is also the longest chapter of this story, hope it was worth sticking around for.
For Forever and a Day – RF spoilers, happy-ish ending? Beware of sentiment?
Sherlock was gone. He had believed that with Sherlock's rather manic take on life that he would indeed outlive his little brother. Even now though coming from having just attended the funeral he couldn't quite believe that it was true. That Sherlock was gone. It was a constant in his life. Sherlock was there, Sherlock would get in trouble, Sherlock would be bailed out of it again and life would continue. Everything he had become was the result of an initial idea to make sure he would always have what he needed to be able to keep his brother alive. To keep his brother safe, or as safe as his chosen lifestyle would allow. What was he supposed to do now? He wanted a drink before contemplating his future actions. Today of all days, having buried his little brother, he thought deserved a good stiff drink. Before he could even consider such matters though it was necessary to that he maintain his usual decorum till he reached more private settings; the British Government was not ruled by sentiment.
He watched as the streets went by and eventually his driver stopped outside his central London flat; his favourite though it was rarely used. He waved his driver, and semi-formal bodyguard, off as he reached the door. He wouldn't be going anywhere else today. The British Government might not be ruled by sentiment but Anthea could still handle any matters of importance, for a day if not forever. Entering the flat he thrust his umbrella brusquely into the nearby stand and sighed as he toed off his shoes. He reached up to loosen and remove his tie and opened the top two buttons of his dress shirt after tossing the tie on the entryway table. Sherlock had never been one for standing on ceremony inside one's own house (or in others' houses he thought as he remembered a certain sheet-clad trip his brother had taken) and today seemed a day to humour him, even if in so small a way.
He had made his way leisurely toward his study to procure the drink he'd been thinking of; a rather full glass of nicely aged whiskey. He'd been saving the bottle's contents for the occasional evening after successful campaigns but if he was going to give Sherlock a private send off it might as well be a proper one and that whiskey was the only drink he had here he could stomach more than a few polite sips of; an extra reminder to drink sparingly even when not in the company of others. Lost in his own thoughts of what Sherlock might have thought of his evening plans, for once he failed to observe his surroundings. It came then as a shock when he turned from taking his first salutory mouthful from his now filled glass to find what appeared to be his brother's pale corpse laying in limp repose upon the couch in his study. The glass slipped from senseless fingers; expensive contents long forgotten as they seeped into the plush carpet.
He stood frozen for only a moment before his body moved forward of its own accord. A moment was all it took to observe; dead bodies didn't breath, this body took slow languid breaths denoting peaceful sleep. He doesn't register crossing the short distance. Such a lapse in memory should be astonishing and worrying but for once he cannot bring himself to care. One moment he is taking a step toward the room's other occupant the next he has dropped softly to his knees beside them; a hand hovering by the other's face, wavering, as if he cannot bear to touch them and yet feeling compelled to do so also.
Before he can resolve this dichotomy of feelings the figure stirs and he withdraws his hand, sharply as if burned though no contact has been made. They blink sleepily and observe their observer seemingly at ease at having woken to such scrutiny; Mycroft can see the subtle tension presented in the slightest of flinches though. For a time they merely sit, each watching the other watching them. He looks somewhat ragged, Mycroft notes. The clothing does not have his usual flair. A worn pair of slightly baggy jeans, an unzipped hooded jacket that looks like it was fished out of someone's bin, meaning it probably was, and a tight shirt with crude language on it. His hair has been trimmed short, turned spiky with gel and dyed a light warm brown. His distinctive eyes are hidden behind dull brown lenses. His face is the same though, full of sharp angles, and his distinctive hands and long fingers show plainly as he unconsciously pulls at the slightly too-short jacket sleeves.
Mycroft's legs start to pain him and he realises how long they've sat silently but he cannot bring himself to move away to a more comfortable seat; any distance between them would be too much. As if sensing this, the other figure shifts on the couch to make room. He gets up slowly in deference to his slightly numb legs and sits hesitantly in the space made for him. When he has finished moving the other finally speaks.
"Hello, Mye." The familiar voice and nickname he'd thought lost wash over him and it takes every bit of ice purported to be within him to not do something as undignified as emit a whimper at hearing it again.
It seems like these words open the floodgates because the words come spilling out though he won't look at Mycroft during his recitation. All that has happened these past days and weeks, all that he had deduced and decided, every detail of his actions, comes pouring out. He sits and listens to it all offering no comments, until slowly the flow ebbs and silence reigns once more. The other, his little brother, Sherlock, glances up at him finally, warily, trying to gauge his reaction to all he has just been told before ducking his head to hide startlingly expressive eyes once more. Mycroft leans forward to bridge the gap that is between them using his hand to lift Sherlock's chin so their eyes would meet, reading every fear that was displayed there for those who know how to look. He placed a light kiss on his brother's brow and watched as Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut, his body sagging in relief of the acceptance of his actions and forgiveness for his deceit.
"As I have told you, when you were born Mummy made me promise as part of an older brother's duty. I didn't promise her anything. I promised you. Always, whether I was needed, wanted, or necessary that I'd try to look out for you and help you as best I could. My words then were childish, 'I promise, Little Brother, for forever and a day.' Those words, the promise I made, still stand. You'll always have me Sherlock, for forever and a day."
Wow, yes, the ending was sappy/sentimental. But it's roughly what I had planned out when I started.
I had a lot of fun playing with this and if you look there are oblique references to previous chapters in this one. I'm not referring to the chapter titles (though of course they're present too) and don't forget I edited ch2 and ch3. Part one was 'the result of an initial idea' referencing 'thought about a little brother for ages' section preceding Mycroft's promise. Can you find the others for part 2-4? Fair warning, they're not in order.
So... one last review? Pretty please?
Anyway, Promise of a Lifetime is done. My first (intentionally) multichaptered fic. So... more multichapter works, more oneshots or try for a mix?
~Addict to Fanfics
W3625 E4399
W05/19/13, 05/20/13, 05/21/13, 05/23/13, E052713, 060413, 061013, 061313, 061813