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
Mycroft looked at his brother; he really did look good. All injuries healed, physical at least and most others as well.
Mycroft contemplated how his brother had inherited their Mummy's pale completion. Because of this, when he was recovering his skin tone was almost ghostly. His color had returned; he looked good. The past few months have been a living hell for Sherlock. Most men would have been broken under the weight of what Sherlock have had to endure, and had to carry, but not Sherlock. He was a Holmes after all. Better, he was Sherlock. The truth is he was proud of his little brother.
Mycroft cleared his throat as his right hand held the umbrella to the floor. What was happening to him lately? Was he really turning into one of those people who got sentimental? How… Dreadfully dull, as his brother would say.
Mycroft took a breath.
Mycroft did something then he never does. He spoke without calculation of every word, examining the consequences and angles.
If it were not such an insult, he would have said he spoke from his heart.
"I died," Mycroft words seemed rushed and random.
"I beg your pardon," Sherlock was confused by Mycroft's seemingly arbitrary statement.
"At first I did not believe that you died. I looked, read the files on the examined body. I looked at the surveillance cameras. I looked for anything that would indicate that you were alive. According to all accounts, Molly has always been exceptional in her job, and her reports was quite thorough and conclusive. No reason existed to doubt her reports that the body was yours."
Mycroft eyed his brother suspiciously, "Down to the DNA, all evidence pointed that to the fact that it was you," Mycroft smiled while looking at his little brother, "I suppose you have always been exceptionally gifted in the sciences, Sherlock."
Mycroft took a breath.
"You were gone. I was alone. It was my fault." Mycroft shifted in his chair and sighed.
"Despite what people think, I do feel guilt Sherlock. Granted rarely, but when it concerns you, often."
"Then, I started seeing you everywhere. However, every lead turned up to be nothing. I even thought I saw you outside my residence the week of your death. I was going quite mad." Mycroft raised his eyebrow while biting his lower lip.
A childhood habit the rare times Mycroft was alone with Sherlock and nervous.
"The red haired man?" Sherlock asked frowning.
"How did you…" Mycroft started to ask before being interrupted by his brother.
"That was me," Sherlock confessed.
"I don't understand," Mycroft sat up straight now.
"Neither do I. I was about to leave the country, I saw John and Mrs. Hudson at the grave the day before. I had to see you too." Sherlock said quietly with some embarrassment.
Sherlock added, "It was illogical, and dangerous and sentimental, yet I could not stop myself."
There was a pregnant silence as Sherlock's words soaked into Mycroft.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"After your… death… I felt nothing," Mycroft started again. "I did my duty. I ate when necessary I woke when necessary. I slept when necessary, but I felt dead. At one point, I argued that if I felt dead, Why not just join you. I held the gun in my hand twice. I probably for the sake of duty would not have done it. Probably." Mycroft frowned. For the first time in his life, he was not sure what he would have done.
Sherlock inhaled sharply but said nothing.
Mycroft smiled sadly, "But, then the first anonymous lead came in and I had a new purpose. I would watch over John and Mrs. Hudson from a distance, I would bring down the rest of Moriarty's web with my bare hands if necessary. It kept me sane. It kept me here."
Sherlock swallowed heavily.
"I did not know it would affect you so much. I wasn't sure you still cared." Sherlock said quietly while looking Mycroft in the face.
"Because you're an idiot," Mycroft said raising an eyebrow.
"Possibly." Sherlock smiled.
"That is as close as you've ever come to admitting the obvious." Mycroft smiled as well.
Sherlock raised his eyebrows then smirked at his comment. That turned into a chuckle, which blossomed into a full hearty laugh.
Mycroft chuckled quietly beside him.
"You do realize you're still a git," Sherlock asked.
"If you admit you're still a sod," Mycroft joined
"Well, where do we go from here?" Sherlock asked
"I suppose we could simply start over," Mycroft ventured.
"Does that mean I have to adopt John?" Mycroft wondered out loud frowning.
"You already have an annoying little brother, think of him as the better behave middle brother, Mycroft."
Feeling overcome with emotion, Mycroft walked over to the window and looked out. Sherlock came up silently behind him and after the smallest of hesitations, put his hand on top of Mycroft's shoulder. Mycroft put his other free hand on top of Sherlock's hand.
They both allowed the memories and emotions to come. Long ago, locked away memories to come. Good and bad. However, there was so much more good.
John let himself in and was shocked to see the two Holmes brothers showing what he could only describe as affection to one another. Even more amazing was the fact that neither seemed apologetic or embarrassed. "Sorry I'll just go…"
"No stay, John," Sherlock requested simply
"Please," Mycroft added
John was not sure what happened, was happening, but they were trusting him and was calling him to be a witness to the new chapter in the lives of the Holmes Brothers.
He knew they would still argue and bicker, what family did not.
He also knew there would be love.
That love would be there, not deleting but instead healing even the very worse of memories.
End
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Zacha