a/n: One year after "The Reichenbach Fall" and John Watson is moving out of Baker Street.
Mycroft retreats to his club.
Sherlock and companions do not belong to me.
Moving On 6
A flickering flame
And the glow of red wine
In a glass.
His club;
A last haven
Of silence, decorum and class.
A retreat from
The daily demands
Of the Great and the Good;
His role at the Government's heart
Very few understood.
~0~
A newspaper,
Folded just so,
Lay unopened, unread.
He gazed at the flames,
Lost in thought
For a moment instead.
It was hard to believe
That a year and a day
Had now passed;
And to think
That his world
Had been turned upside down
Quite so fast.
He had buried himself
In his work,
In affairs of the land,
But he could not forget
A high roof top;
A final brave stand.
~0~
He should never
Have been so obsessed
With achieving his goal;
Quite blind to the thirst for revenge
In a madman's
Dark soul.
He'd been played
With a lure
On a dangerous line
All along;
And had utterly failed to observe
That his actions were wrong.
~0~
He hadn't considered
At all
That a trap might be laid;
His words had a very high price,
And his brother had paid.
~0~
That larger than life
Irreplaceable
Figure had gone;
And it seemed
An impossible task
To begin to move on.
~0~
He longed for the guilt,
The regret,
And the grieving
To stop,
As he drained
His large glass of fine wine
To the very last drop.
~0~