"Hello, Alaya," said Mycroft, his nose wrinkling in disgust as his umbrella swung into a pile of dirty laundry. "I swear," he muttered under his breath, "that only Sherlock Holmes could manage to utterly ruin a room in such a short amount of time."
"Mycroft, not meaning to be rude or anything," said Allie, inching towards the door. "But why the hell are you here?" Her words temporarily drew Mycroft's attention from the state of the room. "Right," he said slowly to himself. "Why the hell I'm here." Allie stood awkwardly a few feet from the exit, Alaya lingering beside her.
"Why the hell I'm here," Mycroft repeated. Allie felt increasingly uncomfortable. "Not meaning to be rude," said Mycroft, "but, Alaya, why are you here?" He took a sudden step towards her, not caring about the filth that impeded his every step.
"You left… years ago. No word from you at all, until…" Mycroft inhaled deeply. Allie knew exactly what he was talking about. Two years previously she had decided it was about time Allie made a reappearance in the Holmes' lives, for the better or the worst, so she did it the only way she knew how.
Allie faked her death.
Nobody would ever guess that a Holmes would die from some trivial physical limitations, which made choking the perfect way for Allie to die. She handled all the funeral arrangements, even got her hands on a body in case her… family decided to check the records.
None of them showed up. Thinking back, Allie could see why they wouldn't have, but at the time it had hurt her deeply. They were supposed to come to her funeral and realise just how much they needed her, even though now they could never have her again. They were supposed to weep bitter tears over how cruel a life she had lived, and they would swear to be better people. The perfect ending.
"It isn't one of your precious storybooks," Alaya had sneered. "This is reality. You should visit it sometimes - maybe then you'd get your head out of your -"
"Why would you show up now, of all times?" Mycroft asked, interrupting Allie's train of thought. "Why not any other time, why not - why not Sherlock's funeral?" Allie rolled her eyes. "I was at Sherlock's funeral," she said. "I watched the burial. I wasn't the only uninvited guest."
Mycroft opened his mouth but said nothing, so Allie continued. "I wasn't going to let you two have all the fun, was I?" she asked. Mycroft blinked twice. "I suppose," he said, "we should've realised that you wouldn't… that you would get involved somehow."
"Yes," Allie agreed. The two siblings stood in silence for a moment until Mycroft spoke again. "Butt out," he said. Allie looked at him in shock. "What?" she asked, not quite believing what she was hearing.
"Butt out," said Mycroft again. "Go back to your library and your messy little flat, go back to the life you've made without us. You made a choice, Alaya, and you'll have to stick with it." When Allie didn't speak, Mycroft cleared his throat. "Besides," he said. "Even if you were still a part of the Holmes family, I doubt very much you'd have made the cut."
Allie stared at her 'brother' for a second before pulling a gun out from the back of her shirt, cocking it, and pointing it at him. Mycroft shifted nervously where he stood. "You wouldn't," he said. Allie laughed. "You don't sound so certain, Mikey," she said to her brother.
Mycroft straightened, his nose sticking into the air. "You wouldn't," he said again, and Allie could tell he believed it. Without a word, she turned the gun and pointed it at herself. "Tell me, Mycroft," she said. "Do you think I'll do it?" Mycroft looked uncertain. Allie waited, but his answer didn't come.
"No response?" said Allie, and Mycroft realised his mistake. "Allie," he said warningly. "Too late," said Allie, and she pulled the trigger.