"Wait let me get this straight. You found him, he's been home for two weeks and you're only just telling me now?"
"Now Irene, there were...mitigating circumstances. Plus I felt it wasn't needed. You needed to continue your mission in China."
"No, you listen to me. You should have told me! I could have helped rescue him!"
"No. And in any case I have told you now."
"I'm coming to London"
"No. You need to stay where you are"
"I want to see him"
"You really don't"
"I think I can judge for myself thank you, Mycroft"
"Irene...trust me when I say-"
"See you in a few hours, Mr Holmes"
Mycroft sighed and hung up the phone. Then took a breath and dialled Molly Hooper.
"Sherlock.. Im going out to pick up Molly Hooper..she want's to visit you and I need to stop at a few places. Will you be alright by yourself"
No. "Of course. See you later" Still on that window seat. Still in his pyjamas, still as quiet as ever. Mycroft gave his sibling a dubious glance before pulling on his coat and grabbing the ever present umbrella.
Opening the door to 221B Baker Street, was an interesting experience, not quite what he remembered. No longer was it Sherlock's home. No music sounded from upstairs, no lingering smell of chemicals or an explosion. He remembered coming up here soon after he had thought he'd lost his brother the first time. The feeling of loss and grief still present. The emotions that threatened to spill as he'd walked up those steps. Now he walked up for an entirely different reason.
He had thought perhaps something from his flat might cheer him up. Which is why he was taking a few books from the shelves. His violin was gone. The skull was probably not the right thing to bring back. But what was this? A photo album by the looks of it. Black leather, with a silver S emblazoned on the front. Mycroft placed the books on Sherlock's armchair.
He picked up the album, opening it a few pages in. Several photos adorned each side, all or most of John and Sherlock together. Others were of one, or the other, photographed by themselves or with other people. Here was Sherlock and Lestrade, the Inspector smiling broadly, the detective sulking. Here was John and Lestrade, both smiling, both in football colours. Both clearly very drunk. Here was Molly and Sherlock at the latter's birthday party. Here was John and Sherlock laughing, John asleep in his chair, computer still resting in his lap.
"I made that for him, well, I was working on it when he..um. You're welcome to take it dear."
Mycroft turned, placing the album on the small pile of books. He'd been caught. "You don't mind? I just thought.. I mean I wanted to take some things from his home, I know John has most of his more treasured possensions. I just-"
Mrs Hudson moved over towards the tall, suited man and patted his arm. "It's alright dear. You miss him. I don't know why you haven't been over here sooner"
"I thought, perhaps I wasn't welcome. But, this morning I just had the overwhelming urge to come over." Mrs Hudson's eyes became misty. "You poor dear. Everyone thinks of John, but they forget about you don't they dear? I suppose all John's books have been making you think of him again, haven't they?"
"Yes. Thank you for this. I better go. Late for a meeting." He gave her a smile, a sad one. She seemed to believe his story. Thank goodness for that. How would you explain getting books for a dead man?
He's at the grave again. You told us you wanted to be up to date with his movements while with the children -A
Thank you. This is perfect. I need to see him. -MH
"You didn't have to come, or bring them"
"John, I told you before you don't have to go through this alone. Plus you missed the last visit because you got an infection from one of your wounds. The children don't mind. You know they love the stories you've been reading to them from the book." John smiled wistfully before walking towards the grave.
John caressed the head of James and Lily as they began to leave the cemetary. But something or someone caught his eye. A familiar figure sitting on a bench, umbrella resting against the side. "Look you three walk on ahead. I need to see someone"
"John?"
He continued walking, his hands in his pockets. John stopped in front of Mycroft, taking in his appearance and the album on his lap. "Fancy seeing you here"
"Hello John"
He looked up and John could see deep bags under his eyes, the sadness of his expression. His quick eyes, although never as quick as Sherlock's, noticed the rumbled suit, the tea stain on the coat, the way his hands fidgeted as one held the umbrella handle, the other the album. John sat himself down next to Mycroft.
"What are you doing here? You're never here."
"I wanted to see how you were getting on with the twins."
"Liar"
Mycroft cleared his throat, opening the album. John's own throat tightened at the sight of familiar photos. "You get that from Mrs Hudson?" Mycroft nodded, one finger tracing Sherlock's laughing face. "You ok?" Mycroft raised an elegant eyebrow. "Of course"
"You don't look ok"
"I assure you I'm fine." He clenched the umbrella handle tightly. "You always have an umbrella, even if it's not raining. It's like you're attached to the thing." John attempted to change the subject. Mycroft smiled slightly, his eyes sad. "It was a gift. From Sherlock, when he was a child." It was John's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know"
"No one does"
It suddenly stuck John that the man beside him was utterly alone. He'd lost his brother, his only family. Alone for every Christmas dinner, birthday, any sort of holiday. Everyone felt sorry for John, did anyone stop and think about Mycroft?
"He melted my old one, when he was a child"
"He melted...your umbrella?" Mycroft smiled morosely.
"It was an experiment." John chuckled. "Of course it was."
"I got a cold, from being caught in the rain without one and the devilish scamp felt terrible and brought me a new one. This one in fact. I've kept it all these years"
"Why?"
"I like it...sentiment"
"Oh."
John looked over to his best friend's grave, his eyes stinging. "I never heard much about his childhood." Mycroft nodded, following his gaze. "It wasn't exactly an enjoyable one." John turned to look at Mycroft. "Oh. I'm sorry"
"Don't be. Father's fault really. I was the golden boy. Sherlock was the dreamer, the adventurer. He and father never got along. I remember one time, back in high school, there was a tryout for the schools football team. Father insisted Sherlock try out. Said he was too...'delicate'. Silly really, he always had a lithe frame. Got it from mother." John nodded, listening intently.
"Sherlock of course had no desire, he thought football rather stupid. I quite agree, no offence John"
"Oh, none taken. To each his own."
"Yes..quite. Anyway, to get our father off his back. He tried out. Deliberately being as terrible as possible. The other players of course, disliked his intellect, disliked him and decided to teach him a lesson. Needless to say he spent a few weeks in traction as a result. Father never spoke of it again. But he and Sherlock were never quite tolerable of one another after that. Sherlock was a bit of a rebel" Another sad smile and a slight chuckle at the last line from John.
"Oh. Thats not good at all. Did he play any sports?" John was suddenly eager to learn more about his late friend. The elder, no, the only Holmes nodded. "Fencing, horse riding, martial arts of course." None of those surprised John.
"I regret us falling out." Mycroft had no idea why he just said that. Perhaps in light of recent events he felt the need to mention it too someone. But he had no one.
"Yes, how did that happen?"
"I left home. I left him alone."
"Oh. I thought there was more too it."
"Yes and no, it started with that and we just, gradually drifted apart. I regret that now. Maybe if we hadn't he'd still.." He was going to say, still himself but left it at that, knowing John would think otherwise. John bit his lip, wiping a stray tear from his cheek.
"How are you injuries? Healing nicely I hope?"
"Yes, thank you. They are. Slowly though."
"Good, thats good, isn't it? And Mary, you and her are getting along well?"
It didn't surprise John in the least that Mycroft knew of this. "Yes, wonderfully. She is an amazing woman." Mycroft smiled sadly. "Good. Good. The children seem to adore you. It's not easy looking after someone else's child. I know from experience. I practically raised someone else's child."
"Oh? Really? Who?"
"Sherlock. Good day to you John. I hope to see you again soon."
"Yes.. yes of course. Any time. Thanks for the furniture by the way. The kids love the room and the toys and well everything" John stood, shaking the government official's hand. Mycroft smiled again and walked out of the cemetery, the album tucked under his arm.