16th July 2005
Sherlock's POV
When Mycroft doesn't come home for two days he figures his brother just decided to cancel the vacation because something more important than him came up at work. It wouldn't be the first time he was pushed aside for one reason or another. So he is very surprised when his brother comes home on Saturday morning, looking like he hasn't slept the two days he's been.

-Good morning, Sherlock,- his brother greets him. –I had a few final papers to complete before my vacation officially begun. Short of a nuclear crisis, Anna will handle things for the next two weeks.-

He blinks in shock. His brother actually did take the time off and was planning on being here with him? What's the odds of that? Something is surely going to distract his brother sooner than later. After all, he's never really been enough. Shaking his head, he tries to push those thoughts away, doesn't want to think about what lead them to this situation.

So he is very surprised when his brother holds out a large manila folder towards him.

-I took some advice and attempted to answer why. I thought you might like to read these before our discussion with Doctor Watson on tomorrow morning.- Mycroft comments after he takes it.

He glances between his brother and the folder now in his hand, trying to get a read on why his brother would do that. These are letter's he thinks, that's the only thing that makes sense. His brother wouldn't hand him a list, and it's too thick to just be answers written out. Although, with the way his brother can be sometimes, it could easily be just very long winded explanations and excuses.

-If you'd like, we can discuss them after I sleep a few hours?- his brother offers almost hesitantly.

Why would Mycroft be hesitant? He's probably not going to like what's in the letters, he thinks. Does he want to wait to read them until he can sit with John to do so? Maybe his friend would be able to help him deal with whatever is in them. Probably more blame for everything that's ever gone wrong in Mycroft's life. He could always read them by himself, or maybe with Jim or Jasper nearby?

He doesn't answer his brother as he turns and heads to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

What to do with the letters? He wonders, tossing them on the bed so he can grab his violin and start playing.

He should wait to read them, he thinks as he starts on his favorite song currently. Better to read them with someone else there. He's pretty sure if he read them right now they'd be upsetting and for the first time in months he hasn't been considering how to get his next fix. Between John, Jim and Jasper, he's been pretty occupied. They give him space, but they also give him support and actually pay attention on the rare occasions he tries actively communicating. He still hasn't managed to talk, despite trying on several occasions only to feel like he was suffocating as he couldn't form the words.

At the same time, he really want to know what's in those letters right now.

Finishing the song, he puts his violin away and walks over to his bed to simply stare at the folder full of letters or essay formatted. It wouldn't be that hard to just reach out and grab the folder, open it up and read them. It's not like his brother could have put anything in them he doesn't already know. For all he has a hard time reading his brother directly, he understands actions well enough and Mycroft have been those of dislike, disinterest, and disgust for years.

Play the violin, he tells himself, ignore the letters.

But answers, he thinks, maybe finally it'll stop hurting so much if I have answers.

No. Play the violin. He orders himself, willing himself to move away from the bed and the folder waiting for him. Instead he reaches out with a shaky hand to grab the folder.

Bad idea, he thinks as his fingers close around it. I shouldn't do this now.

That doesn't stop him from taking a seat in the corner, where Jim has found him on several occasions when he's overwhelmed.

Trying to force himself to stop shaking, he opens the folder and carefully looks over the letters, not yet reading them, only confirming that they are letters. He's startled to realize that while all of them were written in the last day or so, they start before his birth according to the dates written at the top and go all the way until now.

Where to start? He wonders, on the letters dated the oldest and work his way forward or on the letters dated the newest and work his way backwards?

Neither, he tells himself, put them up and walk away. Go find Jim. He's probably got something mischievous to do to keep your mind occupied. But there's answers in these letters. Finally. After wondering why for so long he could know. At what cost though? It's not like it will change anything. Mycroft still doesn't give a damn about him. He's pretty sure John's friend. He's not sure at all what Jim and Jasper are. Maybe they're friends? Maybe not. It's hard to tell with the psychopath and his closest friend.

Biting his lip he drops all but the oldest dated one on the floor. Slowly he starts reading, eyes scanning over the words once, twice, three times. He's having a hard time believing that his brother was ever excited to have him around. Yet according to this, Mycroft had been, at least at one point, excited to have a little brother.

After the fourth read through, he sets it aside and grabs the next. Hesitant because he wonders if this is where his brother is going to start hating him but having to know. He reads through all of them with practically the same sort of fear and hope, trying to understand and having a hard time doing so. It wasn't something he actually did that caused this separation with his brother. it was gradual, over a period of years not months like it feels like for him.

He barely makes it through the last letter once, let alone the two or three times he has been reading them. It hurts too much. Reminding him how much of a failure and disappointment he is. How if he had been a better brother, if he had been good enough maybe he wouldn't have felt the need to turn to drugs to dull his mind.

Drugs. . . . cocaine. . . yes, he should go find some. No he shouldn't. John won't be happy if he does. Maybe he'll even stop being his friend. Probably will anyways, might as well be high when it happens. Leaving the letters on the floor, he stands, opening the window to his room and carefully leaving with years of experience sneaking out without being caught. The lure of peace, of an escape from the pain in his head almost too much to resist.

There's a bit of an update to my updating schedule, it won't affect this story, but it affects the rest of them. Since reviews have dropped since I went on a regular schedule, I am going to switch back to updating as I get things done and have focus instead. However I also plan to try and complete each story, or as complete as I possibly can without feedback before I begin posting. Once I get the story ready, when it would have originally be updated on the schedule is when I will update it. I still won't be doing more than two stories any given day, disregarding tumblr prompts.

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