Mycroft Holmes kept working for the British Government every day of the week, every week of the month and every month of the year. He never needed a promotion. The only thing that filled his mind was the work, the speeches he had to write so the man who was recognised as the Prime Minister could read and the papers he had to sign in his name every day in order to keep the peace of the country and the world.
The older Holmes also kept a very close eye on his young brother through the years after the overdose incident. He was sure he was clean and that he wasn't in posession of any kind of recreational things. And he was completely sure because he had his best men on him and Sherlock's activity always demanded him to be clean.
It wasn't hard to get to Sergeant G. Lestarde a promotion. Just with a flick of his pale fingers and a few papers signed, the man was promoted to the position of Detective Inspector of the New Scotland Yard in London. And everyone won; Mycroft had contolled his brother with his mind occupied in cases and criminals instead of drugs and the new DI had a very good position.
Not like he was only promoted because he was going to be another of the thousands of men keeping an eye on Sherlock Holmes. G. Lestarde was exceptional and certainly the promotion was well deserved. Mycroft just helped doing things more quickly.
The only concern about Sherlock was the drugs. Because when he got himself clean, Richard Holmes died.
"It's good to see you again, son."
A week later after being found naked, unconcious and with a high overdose Sherlock was feeling himself better and clean. He hadn't been taking any drugs, and for orders of his brother he was eating enough food to be healthy for their father. Because every order Mycroft gave to him had a 'do it for Father.' at the end.
Sherlock wasn't a fool and he knew Father didn't have a clue about John's sudden departure to Afghanistan. The man was calm but it was also clear that he was living his last days.
They had never been so close in their lives, not as Mycroft was with him, but Sherlock appreciated the fact his father never pushed him to follow his steps or the destiny of the other men of the family. Richard Holmes gave to him everything he wanted, since a Biology book to a laboratory with all the equipment for him. He had everything.
He smiled to his father and allowed the old man to stroke his hand with his. They were drinking tea in the living room and the man smiled at the sunlight entering through the large windows of the place.
"This reminds me the day John came here. Do you remember, Sherlock?."
"I do remember, father."
Richard took another sip of his tea and smiled at his son. "I just hope he's fine wherever he is now."
"Me too, father."
He needed to act and follow the scrip. Father didn't need to know John had left because of his words. Because the only thing he had done with those words was accelerate the process of John leaving to Afghanistan. Because he knew John could have refused and stay in London with his father, with Richard and him. Mycroft had the enough contacts to make John stay. Sherlock truly regretted saying those words. With all his heart.
"Another letter, Watson?"
John nodded to the young soldier in front of him and smiled, giving the letter a last look. He had been sending letters to Mycroft, Richard and Sherlock almost everyweek when he had enough time to have a sit and write. He never wrote about the bombs, the dead boys or the lack of medical supplies. They didn't need to know he was holding riffles instead of bands, gauze, and medicines. But he knew Mycroft knew all about that.
Until that moment, he never got a letter. John even asked the British postal service in their camp if something was happening with their letters.
Nothing wrong was happening with the postal service.
Anthea looked at the three white envelopes addressed to the Holmes brother and Richard.
'You've got three more letters. A'
'Did as always. MH.'
She placed them in the folder his boss used to kept them and then she locked the safe.
Mycroft always opened the letters John wrote for him. He kept the ones for his father and for Sherlock closed and never read them. He only read one, that was received the same week Sherlock was found uncounciouss with an overdose.
He wasn't amazed after read John's words in that letter. He only read it once, but he stills remembering a few words.
"Hope you're attending to your classes, Sherlock. Remember you only have two more exams to finish university and get your degree.
"Stay safe. It may sound weird, but I have a strange feeling in my chest. Are you OK, aren't you?
I know you never meant those words. I'm sorry for not stopping that car and tell you how sorry I was.
I'm sorry, Sherlock."
The green grass was shinning and the red roses were growing up. Sherlock had cut them all when his mother died. And now they two brothers and his father were having lunch together in the garden.
The maid placed the food over the table and served them their drinks. Richard smiled at her politely and started eating, looking at their sons with nostalgia in his eyes.
People usually say that one knows when it's his time. Richard knew it. He knew he was living that day, just as Elizabeth knew.
And a moment later, a nurse was helping the ex PM to his bed when he asked their sons to be with him. It was time.
"I'm very proud of both of you. You are making your own way in this world that is so different from my days -He took their hands with his and sighed tiredly- I just wish John could be here."
Sherlock had to keep his semblant and not let his father know what happened. He knew it was so unfair to let him go like that, cheated by their own sons. He wished he could have say the truth. But he couldn't.
Mycroft could feel his phone vibrating against the pocket of his jacket. He ignored should have known better.
"John is perfect, father. My men are taking care of him and the situation is favourable to our side-"
"I have been the PM of this country years ago, Mycroft. I may be very ill and tired but I know what is going on there. Don't let him die."
Sherlock clenched his jaw and made his way to the window. The situation was overstepping him and he needed it again. Suddenly the urge of the cocaine in his system was screaming inside him. He needed just one shot. A little one.
The dark haired young man could hear his father mumbling something to his brother and when he turned around he was gone.
His funeral was just like Sherlock expected. Full of people he never knew, high security over them, press, some important personalities of the political world, and just them.
"My sources will inform John-"
"You don't have any source in Afghanistan, Mycroft. Why do you keep telling me those lies? I'm not Father. You thought you were fooling him, but he knew. He knew everything."
Mycroft's face was serious. The older brother kept his eyes on his brother, he wasn't going to show any sign of defeat.
"You think you have all the power in your hand. Just because you can rise a finger and the entire country will follow it, it doesn't mean you can have everything under your control. You don't have any man looking after John. And you're not sending my letters. I know you have someone in the postal service who stops my letters. John is dead and you know it."
He just ran. He didn't are the flashes of the press over his pale face. But once he was back at the streets he visited the place he wanted to go since he left the hospital.
And the 'White Lady' was there for him.
A cargo with medical supplies arrived very early that morning. The boxes had the stamp of the Queen and all the Medical personnel were smiling of happiness.
The situation was getting worst day after day and the lack of supplies was something John had never been trained or warned beforehand. So all of them had to improvise with clothes and sheets for bandages and another things like alchohol, paracetamol, painkillers and medicines were like gold to them.
John was sewing a young man wound in his back that day. The man in charge of the cargo had also brought them a few old papers and magazines.
"Look, 'Ex PM Richard Holmes dies'."
John dropped the cotton he was using to clean the man's wound and took the papers off his hand. There was an old picture of Richard of his days as the PM with Elizabeth by his right side.
More pictures were printed on several pages of the newspaper. Pictures of Mycroft and Sherlock getting down from a black car, famous people and so on.
John couldn't stop those tears falling from his blue eyes.
SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKE.
I THINK NEXT CHAPTER WILL INTRODUCE SOME EVENTS... AND MAYBE SHERLOCK AND JOHN WILL MEET AGAIN :)