Snow fell outside the glass window of a small café decorated with bright lights and mistletoe of the holiday spirit. Instrumental music played at the background while lamps were lit that gave a prevailing ambiance of warmth and comfort. There were few people inside the shop and its privacy made the two male occupants—one a Year 12 student of fifteen and the other a grown man— seated by the glass window to choose such a public place.
The Holmes brothers.
They silently occupied the table till menu cards were placed in front of them by the waiter. After pointing their coffee preference to the server who disappeared automatically from sight, the eldest didn't avert his eyes from his younger brother and slowly tapped his fingers on the table with an air of someone aware that his every movement was being watched.
Sherrinford Holmes then gave his younger brother a curious look. Mycroft Holmes was looking out of season wearing a dark suit and tie with a neatly folded blue napkin on his chest pocket. It had always been a point of attention how Mycroft could be anything but unkempt. Especially for a young man staying in London alone.
Still, it was a change of mood to have his brother around. Mycroft had always been the silent unconcerned type: a highly intelligent, standoffish thinker with a gift to dominate and manipulate if only he be bothered. Sherrinford had always had inclination towards him— he regarded the boy with slight enthusiasm with his exceptional skills. But what made his younger brother truly useful to him was his lack of energy to concern himself with other people. He won't be a threat.
"Christmas appears to be full of surprises this year." The eldest Holmes began quietly with eyes lingering on his brother. "With you calling me out here all of a sudden, it seems unfair that both of us are together while our parents and Sherlock are back home today, brother."
Mycroft looked up from the table with a point blank expression, and though only fifteen years of age his young face was discoloured and dark lines under his eyes that Sherrinford found remarkably telling.
"I'm afraid I might spoil the mood." The younger brother replied softly as he travelled his eyes outside the glass window of the cafe somewhere in central London. "I think I'll hate Christmas after this."
The eldest Holmes narrowed his eyes and raised his pointed chin.
"Well... You never found it appealing. Neither of us did. Sherlock won't either seeing as you're out of his sight when he's always clinging on your leg." The eldest gave a short smile and let the two cups of coffee be placed in front of them. He reached for one and raised it like for a toast. "All's fair in the world."
Mycroft stared at him while he sipped the black coffee without a single change of expression. The instrumental music at the background played a Christmas carol in piano that eased the few occupants around but its warmth didn't seem to reach the brothers' table. Sherrinford placed the coffee back to its saucer quietly and gave Mycroft a long look.
"You seem preoccupied." He leaned back on his chair and locked his dark eyes onto Mycroft who returned the stare. "You called me out here right after your boarding school's term ended for the holiday. And here I was thinking Mycroft's finally seeking for help. I never thought I'd saw the day."
Again, Mycroft just stared at him with deep set eyes that seemed to swallow him. For a young man of that age, it would have been outlandish, but Mycroft was not like anyone his age that made Sherrinford pursed his lips with narrowed eyes.
"You don't want to leave me on my deductions, Mycroft." He began again now sounding intolerant. "Speak."
"I think you know already since I just came with business from school." His tone was dead.
Sherrinford blinked in curiosity. Ah... the boarding school... of course. Mycroft had just entered the same boarding school he attended years ago for seniors. That brought back interesting memories.
"Do tell."
"You left a lasting impression to the Professors while you were studying there." The younger Holmes looked straight at him, finally deciding to be appeaseable. "It made things easy for me. They leave me alone." He paused as he lowered his eyes on the stagnant dark liquid in his cup and went on, "There's this story you've told me about the school, big brother... do you remember?"
The eldest Holmes nodded with a late smile as his eyes lingered on the young. Christmas indeed seems to be full of surprises.
"You mean the famous 'seven suicides'?"
"Yes." Mycroft was not known to squirm in his seat but he did. "It was always the topic of thrill and pleasure among little groups in every corner of the school that made it quite hard to ignore... those 'suicides' that happened decades ago. Students were primarily concerned of the mentality of the 'seven' and be judge on their own. The maddening thing is how they sometimes exaggerate stories when they should be telling the flat truth... but details on stories tend to get lost along the way so I—disbelieving such unrealistic accounts made a research on my own."
The brothers locked eyes.
"And?" the eldest pressed on with curiosity aroused.
"I've exhumed some history... and 'crime'." Mycroft's jaw visibly clenched and the look in his eyes was anything but warm. Sherrinford just watched him silently, unable to respond as seemingly both of them were at the same page of the book.
It made the eldest smile. "Crime? It's suicide, brother—"
"Suicides that also happened during your two years of stay."
Silence fell between the brothers as snow fell sadly outside the shop. And Sherrinford reached for his cup and sipped quietly again before putting it down and shaking his head.
"What you're saying is that 'I' had something to do with it?" he threw a severe look at Mycroft, his piercing eyes enough to go through but his brother didn't seem faze. This incensed Sherrinford more than anything. "Mycroft, that's a cruel way to imply—"
"It's not an implication."
"Oh? And on what basis—?"
"You told me yourself."
The eldest Holmes surveyed his brother with lips parted open and face blank. Mycroft was looking paler but firm by the minute with dark eyes steeled and determined. Now, that was a change the eldest Holmes did not foresee.
It could be troublesome; Sherrinford thought as he put both hands together and leaned on the table slowly.
"I did? Let's hear it." He prompted with relish curiosity. "Your deduction."
For a moment, the Mycroft didn't speak, seemingly distracted by the dark glinting eyes looking down at him. Then—
"The first time you told me the story was during Christmas holiday of your first return... You told me there were seven of them who committed suicides in the school's history decades before...I remembered thinking how those seven must've been idiots."
"So?"
"You said there were 'seven' in all." Mycroft repeated and hesitated as he licked his drying lips, voice faltering "It was your first return for Christmas... but I checked the dates and only four were counted before you came... the fifth suicide happened after New Year on your second term..." Mycroft's voice shook, "and the sixth... and the seventh—"
"Have some coffee, Mycroft."
"You said there were 'seven' but when before Christmas there were only four—how could you give the exact number of suicides when they haven't happened—!"
"You're shaking. I suggest you take your coffee now." His tone was ever lucid and when he caught his younger brother's eyes again there was a flicker of fear finally reflected on them. Finally. But Sherrinford couldn't blame Mycroft—not when he was smiling like the devil.
"Brother!" Mycroft's voice had suddenly gotten stronger but Sherrinford shook his head calmly.
"It was a mere slip of the tongue taken from inference to prediction. Even you can do that—how many people do you see everyday can you predict would take their lives? A simple stance, posture, wrists, fingernails—it can all tell. And do you really think I'm capable of such a thing, brother dear?"
A pause then—
"Redbeard." Mycroft's face looked crestfallen and white but the steadiness of his voice was admirable. Sherrinford was not smiling now. "Symptoms of paralysis...drying fur, blackness of eyes and teeth... It was clear he was poisoned that slowly killed him till there was nothing left but to relieve him of pain... to put him down... I had been aware of it..."
He raised his eyes to his eldest with an uncertain flicker. Sherrinford didn't look so happy.
"Since when did you care about a dog?"
"Since I was hoping you'd tell me that the poison was not meant for Sherlock."
"You think I would hurt Sherlock?"
"It's not beyond you... I know you—I observe you. Your pattern—your behaviour—"
"Mycroft—"
"You're a psychopath—!"
"No." Sherrinford placed his hand on top of his other carefully. "In answer to your question, I would never hurt Sherlock... I was even a bit concerned when he was the one who carried Redbeard's poisoned treats but luckily he didn't touch it—"
Mycroft lost the ability to speak with his eyes widening.
Sherrinford finished his black coffee and leaned back on his chair, eyes suddenly full of life as he eyed his younger brother once more. And he smiled.
"Three months," the eldest began again with delighted eyes. "It only took my young brother three months to reveal what the police never found out. But I suppose it's my slip of tongue... I was much more impulsive by then, you know, Mycroft? So much energy and excitement at the prospect of making those four actually do what I bid them. And just because I know the right words to say. It was an experiment."
"You—"
"We're not much the same, now that I think of it. You hate people. I love them. I love observing them, I love controlling them—I love it when I drive them to a corner and see how desperate they struggle to maintain their sanity they never thought they had—"
The fifteen year old slammed his white palms on the table that shook and spilled his untouched coffee.
"What's wrong with you?" Mycroft injected with hatred now etched on his face. "How could you kill—?"
"I told you I didn't. I merely gave them a helping 'whisper'. A hand. I had always liked my poisons. And they were so boring leading meaningless life so I told them something of fact—that whether they exist or not it won't matter—nobody would notice even if they die—"
"But Sherlock—!"
"Oh, so this is about our little brother? I have nothing against him; he was just a tool of the experiment. I wouldn't hurt him directly."
Mycroft's lips trembled with eyes not leaving his eldest. His hands shook too that made him close it into fists and take it down from the table. Sherrinford was all eyes to him. Pity. If his brother could not stomach simple experiments then what was the use of him? A real pity.
"You have to stop, brother..." Mycroft suddenly whispered with a glance up. "Turn yourself in."
Sherrinford stopped smiling at the unexpected posed threat.
"Why?"
"Because it's the right thing to do."
Sherrinford chuckled loudly. Oh, the naïveté of the young.
"And if I don't?" he asked testily, eyes glinting. "What 'can' you do?"
They stared at each other with gazes they have never given each other. And Mycroft had never looked so much determined, so much passion behind his usually deadlock eyes. Sherrinford could tell something got triggered inside his brother. Interesting.
"I'm going to stop you."
"You? Someone powerless like you cannot stop me." He said with intimidating eyes lingering on the brother he had always taken for granted. "You're just a boy whereas I— I have been working the other side of this world with my eyes closed. This world only works for the powerful, Mycroft, and unless you have that the palm of your hands you do not stand a chance against me. You cannot protect anyone—not even precious little brother Sherlock."
He saw Mycroft went pail and who could blame him? Threats he would usually utter to strangers now was given to a family member. Sherrinford could not deny the dark urge to continue—who knew personal things could make him even a shade darker?
Before he knew it, Sherrinford had reached for Mycroft's cold hand and held it tight with a smirk on his face.
"Don't worry, I don't have any hard feelings for you. I won't do anything to you as long as you continue being a good boy. But if you don't listen to me..." the smile he gave dropped down as his eyes flickered alive, "you will be one of those unfortunate boys who committed suicide while drinking coffee."
He said it with a straight face as he took Mycroft's cup and pressed it on the fifteen-year old's weak hands.
Was he ever a bully of the weak?
"By the way, little brother... aren't you alone in London now?"
The threat seemed to be taken lightly however when on the summer of the next year, Mycroft was so desperate to 'meddle' that on a particular sunny day, it was unfortunate that the sixteen year old nearly drowned from the family pool after accidentally 'slipping over.'
And many other 'suspicious' incidents after.
When Sherlock and John stepped into the lane going to the graveyard that had been so familiar to them for years and was always during dark occasions, they both took time to watch the cab drive away into the end of the road till it was gone. The night was chilly and Sherlock had to pull his coat closer as he turned towards the cemetery gate with curt of eyebrows. John quietly stood beside him and together, they looked at the darkness beyond the pathway, both feeling a sort of tumult at the pit of their stomachs.
"It's just like opening a Christmas present, don't you think?" Sherlock suddenly voiced out as his friend sighed beside him. "Not knowing what to expect but you know there's something?"
"You're excited." John observed with an exasperated sigh, eyes wandering around.
"Aren't you?"
"We could die tonight, you know?" John glanced at him sharply as they started moving on the path walk.
"We could." The detective answered as he began walking briskly away with hands jammed at the pocket of his dark coat, "But not tonight."
The street lamps were on that gave them a clear view of the vicinity isolated at that time of the night. Sherlock's eyes were looking straight ahead while John would glance every now and then behind them and on the side.
"You notice it too?" Sherlock suddenly asked.
"What?" the doctor abruptly replied with a stunned look at his friend.
"The cemetery's atmosphere. It's annoying. There's not even a mist to add to the thrill."
"Sherlock." John gritted his teeth as he flexed his numb fists. "Dammit, London's just dry. Never you mind." He looked around them again as they went on deeper till they almost reach the church. Beyond it was Sherlock's supposed grave and drawing closer made John Watson inhale deep and lick his drying lips.
"Stop fidgeting, you're distracting me." The detective snapped with a side glance at him.
"You know we're dealing with a psychopath—"
"I'm a high functioning sociopath—oh, you mean my brother?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Yes, he's got some nasty habits. Even killed my dog once. Never trusted him after."
"He killed—?"
"He's off with morals. Don't know where he got that. Mycroft's loaded of it."
"You think Mycroft knows we're here?"
"He's sleeping, John—"
"No, I meant if he knows where Sherrinford is?"
"He always knows."
"You really think it's better to move without Mycroft then?"
"There's danger enough for the two of us."
John nodded with much aggressiveness and cleared his throat.
"So, any chance for a backup?" the doctor shrugged as they went pass the church towards the field where they paused by the entrance as the detective scanned the darkness. The lamps were no longer around but on the trees surrounding them and forward hung what appeared to be blinking Christmas lights of white, red and blue. "If he was planning to come here all along, don't you think he would have sent his vanguards ahead?"
"We are the vanguards." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and for a moment he was silent as John contemplated the answer. Then he stepped out towards the field with the doctor right behind him as he added. "And if there is a backup waiting around, don't you think they would have stopped us by now? No, it's obvious we're entering a battle field where both the hunters and tigers lie in wait to make the first pounce at the deer."
"What? You mean to say they're watching us?" John hissed as he rigidly moved his body after his friend and they saw the first tombs on the field. The doctor had to look down as his feet left the pavement and touched the soil field.
"Look at the ground." Sherlock indicated the soil, "Plenty of footmarks and very recent activities..." they passed through the few tombs and the detective's eyes glanced up to the giant tree that had been his landmark and there, underneath it, with his silhouette emphasized by the fluorescent lamp behind him, was none other than his other brother. Sherlock's eyes flickered. "Seems like both the living and dead have been having a Christmas party."
John paused as he too, saw the man seated by the place where he knew Sherlock's fake tomb used to be.
"That sounds ominous." He whispered as he followed Sherlock again and together, the duo crossed the field towards the waiting man with the detective's strides suddenly quickening. "Sherlock—"
"It's dangerous from here onwards, John." The detective muttered without stopping, "You sure you still want to get involve in my family feud?"
"You and your drama queen brothers?" John shook his head, "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Sherlock smirked. "Risking your life to protect my back? My brother? Or the country?"
"All the same thing."
The two got closer enough to see a better view of the third Holmes brother who seemed to be watching their every movement. That was when the two noticed the patch of earth surrounding him and then there, right across them were two pits of dug plot.
"Jesus..." John whispered as he seemed to remember something.
"Hello, Sherrinford." Sherlock addressed the man in dark suit whose face was hidden by the light behind him with bitterness and coldness John thought had reached another notch. The man suddenly stood up with hands in his pockets and it was remarkable how tall he was. Even than Mycroft.
"Sherlock." Sherrinford uttered the name sounding bemused and at the same time suspicious, "This is not what I was expecting."
"You thought I was dead?" Sherlock threw at him. "No thanks to you."
"I thought Mycroft would have kept you inside his box and lock you there until this was over."
"I never did like it when you two share secrets. Or games."
The eldest Holmes smiled and took a step closer till the tip of his toe was inches from the plots.
"I nearly forgot how stubborn you really are, Sherlock. And here I thought I've gotten rid of the one person that was holding Mycroft back and free him from being the good role model brother."
"If that's what you thought what Mycroft's been doing then you wasted the trip back." Sherlock smirked challengingly while John stared at the man as he recognized his American accent. "To view Mycroft as a role model... you must've gone way so bad. Mum and dad were always upset about you."
"Where is he?"
"Locked up. Safe from you."
"Shouldn't you be worrying about yourself? Coming here... undefended and... With additional casualty?" he suddenly eyed John who clenched his jaw at the attention. "Hello, doctor. First time we finally met."
"I don't think so." John answered with a hard look at the man.
Sherrinford could careless as he averted his eyes back to his youngest brother.
"I don't need you here, Sherlock. Mycroft wouldn't have sent you even if it kills him and especially not after what I did to you so you being here... then again, you've always been a nuisance."
"I kind of made it a hobby to sabotage my older brother's plan." Sherlock's eyes glinted dark, "And those who plot against him. If you want to meet my brother, Mycroft, in person you're going to have to make an appointment. Through me."
"Ah." Sherrinford closed his eyes slightly as if pained, and then glanced up once more with a fake smile on his lips. "You speak Mycroft; it's funny how you two attempt to protect and destroy each other. What did you do to him this time? Knock him on the head? Tie him on a chair?"
"What about you?" Sherlock took a step forward with wide eyes, "hiding here—?"
"Not hiding." Sherrinford looked down at the detective's feet and John following his eyes frowned at what he was seeing. "Mycroft found a way to corner me in the last few hours... men rounded, escape route block... Now I'm trapped. Trapped and desperate."
"Sherlock—" John began softly—
"You mean desperate enough to call him here in the dark and make arrangements—?" the detective took a step forward but received a sudden jerk backwards that halted his movements—looking back he heard John shout—
"Don't move!"
And it became clear why as Sherlock followed where John was looking at his feet and noticed a red blinking light just at the corner of his toe. And the detective suddenly widened his gaze and saw, hidden by the earth were dozens of other blinking lights they had taken as part of the Christmas light bulbs surrounding the area. Now looking down, Sherlock then realised they weren't just lights.
Landmines.
"Oh, shit." John muttered as he glanced around him too and saw every visible landmine kept on the ground. He felt the ground he was standing on and knew he was stepping on one. Sherlock glanced back at his brother with angry, meaningful eyes as he dug his feet on the soil where he could feel a bulge of the detonator.
Sherrinford was smiling wide.
"You lost, Sherlock. Twice. And I'm done with you, little brother. This setup was for Mycroft in case he gets disagreeable but since you spoiled the fun, I might as well come to him myself. Surprises are always part of the fun." He was about to turn away when—
"You don't need him." The detective said and took something from his pocket. "I have what you need right here."
John glanced at his friend and saw him procure the tiny red notebook he took from the British Government Head's chest pocket and dangle it in front of Sherrinford to see. The eldest Holmes looked blankly at the notebook for awhile, and then his eyes flickered as he faced his youngest again.
"Very good, Sherlock. You didn't come empty handed after all." Sherrinford then said with all attention to his little brother. "Who would have thought you'd still become useful after all this time?"
"Just another trash taken to get rid of another trash."
"You've seen what's inside?"
"Colossal."
"Then you know that Mycroft's secrets and plans are all written there like a little diary?"
"Apparently my brother Mycroft still speaks in ciphers even at his doodling that made this notebook a compilation of codes." Sherlock watched warily as his eldest took step toward him again. "But given our knowledge of ciphers—it shouldn't be difficult."
"Again, you're being naive." Sherrinford narrowed his eyes. "You have no idea how that beautiful object could strip Mycroft Holmes off his power. And I intend to proceed that way."
"Not if I can help it."
"What can you do? You're just a boy. Now give it to me." He reached out towards it but Sherlock, with adeptness that even took John by surprise, pulled out a gun from inside his pocket and point it on Sherrinford's temple. His eyes were resolute.
John breathed hard and he licked his lips again at the position he found the Holmes brothers in, yet somehow, the eldest Holmes didn't look too alarmed.
"That's not a toy, little brother."
"I'm not your brother." Sherlock unlocked the gun's trigger, making John's eyes widen. "I only have one and he's sleeping right now with the best security around him." John smiled. "He wouldn't be able to accommodate your needs so you're going to have to settle it with me."
Silence then—
"An equitable term." Sherrinford replied drily as he eyed the detective with a sudden cold look. "But you made one mistake and that will cost you, Sherlock. Caring for the casualties."
John stood his ground and glowered at the eldest Holmes while Sherlock's dark eyes glinted more.
"A false threat." Came the detective's voice all of a sudden. "You think I wouldn't notice?"
"Sherlock—" John began—
"These landmines I've been stepping on do not set off unless the one rigged as a trigger gets stepped on. We've been walking on them but nothing's happened... inference you purposely didn't put the trigger by the pathway knowing you'd like to speak with Mycroft first... no. It's not on my feet. Nor John's... and I can prove it."
Sherlock suddenly and without warning—raised his right foot as John held his breath and—nothing.
Sherrinford smiled easily looking pleased. John felt the landmine under his feet but didn't dare move an inch.
"I'll commend your skills." The eldest Holmes nodded in approval as he eyed Sherlock, "It's true, it's nowhere near the pathway... but it's still there, waiting to be stepped on. Didn't you hear what I said about your mistake? I said casualties. Always work on your plural, brother."
He said those words exactly as he pulled out a gun from his chest pocket too—and John responded by pulling his gun as well and the three men pointed gun at one another when the party was crashed by a sweep of shadows from the dark—
"Hold it! Everybody put your guns down! Now!" came Detective Inspector Lestrade's overpowering voice and to Sherlock's horror watched dozens of Scotland Yard police swoop the area like ants coming out from different places, shoes all around and stepping on the trap—
"You think I wouldn't prepare this much in the game when I know Mycroft's got the force?" Sherrinford smirked as they all came near in one go, the red blinking lights almost disappearing at their shadows—
"No—No—No!" Sherlock shouted fiercely with John doing the same.
"Stop moving you idiots! You're going to kill us!"
"What?" Lestrade frowned at the two— but then a loud beeping sound suddenly rang in the air that made the police, Sherlock and John to hold their breaths for the next outcome—the red blinking lights suddenly all began blinking in the same pattern that made the detective stare down as the flashes of lights and halts in the middle registered to him that could only mean a word from the Morse Code.
Even John could read every blink but Sherlock's comprehension was super speed as the hidden message flash in his mind. Again and again it repeated the same pattern of the word:
Die. Die. Die.
Sherrinford's eyes twinkled in the dark.
"It's Christmas."
Back at the hospital, Anthea was seen walking in the middle of the corridor with an unusual frown on her beautiful face. She had been trying to contact Mycroft Holmes and when she couldn't, she decided to make a stop at the last place he had been staying— with his ever in need younger brother, Sherlock Holmes.
Before arriving she had made urgent inquiries to the security who informed her the 'Alpha' hasn't left the vicinity which was strange. Mycroft would not disconnect himself now, not when things were dire and in action. So it was a big question when in the last fifteen minutes she could not get hold of him.
Suspicious would be Mycroft Holmes' term.
Therefore it was at that time that she checked her phone again and still saw it unresponsive when she arrived at the floor of the younger brother's room and found two securities in dark suits standing around. Ignoring them, she went pass the two and there upon opening the door—
Found it empty.
Christmas
~To be continued~
Let's all bear gifts ;)
ONE TO GO! Thank you for the support! :D
Thanks for reading!
