Sherlock story
Deleted Memories, Chapter 164
Warning: post Reichenbach spoilers. Hope you enjoy
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"Joy and grief were mingled in the cup; but there were no bitter tears: for even grief itself arose so softened,
and clothed in such sweet and tender recollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost all character of
pain." Charles Dickens
One Month Later at 221B
John and Mrs. Hudson stood whispering in the doorway.
"At it again?" she asked
"Yes," John said simply, sipping his tea as he leaned on the doorframe.
"They're too alike for their own good," she said again.
"Try telling them that," John said rubbing his head, "Do you think they will kill each other if we pop down stairs?"
Mrs. Hudson linked her arm around John's and thought. "Well, the gun is locked up so it should be safe. I'd hate any more holes in my walls. Even though..., Sherlock does have that violin bow and that umbrella of Mycroft's is rather pointy, no telling what he uses the bloody thing for."
John stared at Mrs. Hudson wide eyed, mouth slightly open processing what was said. Then he burst into a fit of giggles. Mrs. Hudson soon joined.
The brothers stopped arguing long enough to take in the picture. There were looks of curiosity and confusion on both the Holmes faces.
"Sorry." John said unable to stop the chuckle, "We'll be next door if you need us." He turned to leave while smiling down at Mrs. Hudson. "Shall we," He said as they walked away leaving the Holmes brothers alone.
They stopped arguing. The two brothers sat opposite each other. They were mirrors of each other in many ways. Both were impeccably dressed. Mycroft in his gray pinstriped suit and vest, finished with a red striped tie; Sherlock in his black trousers, dark velvet purple jacket and matching dark purple shirt. Both legs cross, both felt the need to have their hands touch something. For Mycroft it was his pockets, the phone, or an umbrella. For Sherlock it was the bow of a violin, a phone, a pocket; or the touch of his own hands fingertip to fingertip.
There were so many similarities they shared and yes differences, definitely differences. Yet for all the superior genius of their minds and intellect, they could not see this because they shared one last trait.
They were both incredible stubborn.
"Curious, are they always so … emotional?" Mycroft asked as his right hand tilted the umbrella back and forth on the floor.
"One gets accustomed," Sherlock said with the violin bow resting on his shoulder.
"That was at our expense," Mycroft added needlessly.
"Of course," Sherlock replied just as needlessly.
Both Holmes drank tea. They both decided without saying a word, to take a break from their arguing.
Mycroft wanted Sherlock to head a new anti terrorist covert group. Sherlock said he would never sit behind a desk and found the entire idea, "Dull". Then Mycroft countered by asking Sherlock to at the very least, consult on a case in Russia. Sherlock stated it was "Boring and Dull" Mycroft reminded him of his duty. Sherlock then told him where to put his duty.
When Mycroft commented that he thought that Sherlock would have LOVED the idea of going to Russia while smirking, the true war had begun.
It was their way. In the end he would do as Mycroft requested, he always did, after irritating him first, of course.
Sherlock briefly wondered if John kept his passport up-to-date.
Currently they sat in quiet. This was the eye in the middle of the storm. It was a temporary reprieve in their mental war.