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solrosanNotes: Written for this MMAM prompt at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sherlockbbc inspired by this photo. In one of the first things I wrote (Who's letting who down?) John wondered what memories Mycroft had that made it impossible for him to remove his hand from Sherlock; this might be it.
Summary: Mycroft always carries a photo of him and his brother in his wallet.
***
”Sir, Ms Cole is on line three,” Anthea popped her head through the doorway.
“Tell her I’ll get back to her.”
“This is actually she calling you back because you didn’t get back to her yesterday as you said and Mr Osborne is leaving for Frankfurt in two hours,” Anthea informed him. Ah, that was why she had bothered to actually enter the office and not just send him an instant message on the computer.
“And there’s a Mr Varoufakis saying EMU is dead within 24 hours following Greece leaving the union.”
“There are always prophets of doom,” Mycroft sighed and lifted his phone, “Look up his credentials and keep him away from Mrs Merkel.”
With those words he opened the line for Ms Cole, the woman who was to the Treasury what he was to the Government. She was brilliant and with the economy they had experienced since 2008…well he was very grateful to have Ms Cole on his team. That was why he felt a bit ashamed for not calling her back.
“Nora, I apologise for not calling you back. I hope this doesn’t obstruct-“ she interrupted his well-practiced, and nowadays too often repeated, excuse with a question and before he answered he looked down at the worn photograph in his hand, “Yes, it has been a rough couple of days.”
They didn’t linger at the subject, but Mycroft knew her question hadn’t referred to politics or finances or war. She forgave him his human error because it had human reasons.
Mycroft kept looking at the photograph during the entire conversation, focusing mostly on the smallest boy’s smile – Ms Cole had everything under control since nothing tremendous had happened during the last 72 hours to which she needed to be brought to speed.
As he had said, it had been a rough couple of days. It had been brought to his attention late on Friday that his brother – being the moronic genius as he was – had started using cocaine again. Mycroft had suspected it, but now it was confirmed and as soon as he was done at the office today he was going to Baker Street.
The weekend had been spent contacting clinics and gathering further information. If it was one thing he had learnt when dealing with Sherlock and his yo-yo addiction was that the more he could present he knew, the easier it was to get Sherlock to take reason. If there was nothing left to lie about it became boring, like everything else.
There was a new player in the game now though: Dr John Watson. Somehow Mycroft suspected that the cocaine was more for John’s “pleasure” this time than it was for his. The attention his brother sought was not his anymore, it was Dr Watson’s. Mycroft didn’t care who the show was meant for, he was not going to let Sherlock do this to himself again.
Mycroft had no memory of when the picture in his hand had been taken, but the pure joy in Sherlock’s face was priceless. It was how he wished he could see his brother, how he wished he would remember him the day the idiot miscalculated the amount of cocaine he put into his arm.
It was because of the memory of that purity, that childhood happiness, that Mycroft still kept at it, why he persisted to reach out a hand to Sherlock even though Sherlock didn’t want his help anymore. The photograph helped Mycroft remember that they had been brothers once and made him nurture the naive hope that maybe they would be again one day.
If Sherlock cared to live long enough that was.
“Good luck in Frankfurt. I’ll have your calls re-directed to my mobile during until you return,” Mycroft ended the phone conversation and hung up. If the monetary union really did collapse this week it would, without a doubt, be the worst possible time for Sherlock to have a relapse. Maybe there wasn’t a ‘good’ time to fall back into an addiction, but there were defiantly better and worse times to do it.
“At least you were cute as a child,” Mycroft told the younger boy in the photograph with a sigh and – illogical as it might be – he stroke with one finger over the surface.
“Sir?”
“No.” Mycroft didn’t care what it was, the answer was still no.
“Your car is here,” Anthea said with a sympathetic smile, “You need to get to Westminster before 3 o’clock.”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Mycroft cleared his throat and stood up. Carefully he buttoned his suit jacket, turned off his computer and shredded one document. The last thing he did was to fold the photograph in the middle, following the very distinct pre-folded line, and place it back in his wallet. Little brother, out of sight and out of mind for a while, because the Foreign Office needed him.
Sometimes Mycroft wondered if he had his priorities wrong.
sherlockbbc inspired by this photo. In one of the first things I wrote (Who's letting who down?) John wondered what memories Mycroft had that made it impossible for him to remove his hand from Sherlock; this might be it.Summary: Mycroft always carries a photo of him and his brother in his wallet.
***
”Sir, Ms Cole is on line three,” Anthea popped her head through the doorway.
“Tell her I’ll get back to her.”
“This is actually she calling you back because you didn’t get back to her yesterday as you said and Mr Osborne is leaving for Frankfurt in two hours,” Anthea informed him. Ah, that was why she had bothered to actually enter the office and not just send him an instant message on the computer.
“And there’s a Mr Varoufakis saying EMU is dead within 24 hours following Greece leaving the union.”
“There are always prophets of doom,” Mycroft sighed and lifted his phone, “Look up his credentials and keep him away from Mrs Merkel.”
With those words he opened the line for Ms Cole, the woman who was to the Treasury what he was to the Government. She was brilliant and with the economy they had experienced since 2008…well he was very grateful to have Ms Cole on his team. That was why he felt a bit ashamed for not calling her back.
“Nora, I apologise for not calling you back. I hope this doesn’t obstruct-“ she interrupted his well-practiced, and nowadays too often repeated, excuse with a question and before he answered he looked down at the worn photograph in his hand, “Yes, it has been a rough couple of days.”
They didn’t linger at the subject, but Mycroft knew her question hadn’t referred to politics or finances or war. She forgave him his human error because it had human reasons.
Mycroft kept looking at the photograph during the entire conversation, focusing mostly on the smallest boy’s smile – Ms Cole had everything under control since nothing tremendous had happened during the last 72 hours to which she needed to be brought to speed.
As he had said, it had been a rough couple of days. It had been brought to his attention late on Friday that his brother – being the moronic genius as he was – had started using cocaine again. Mycroft had suspected it, but now it was confirmed and as soon as he was done at the office today he was going to Baker Street.
The weekend had been spent contacting clinics and gathering further information. If it was one thing he had learnt when dealing with Sherlock and his yo-yo addiction was that the more he could present he knew, the easier it was to get Sherlock to take reason. If there was nothing left to lie about it became boring, like everything else.
There was a new player in the game now though: Dr John Watson. Somehow Mycroft suspected that the cocaine was more for John’s “pleasure” this time than it was for his. The attention his brother sought was not his anymore, it was Dr Watson’s. Mycroft didn’t care who the show was meant for, he was not going to let Sherlock do this to himself again.
Mycroft had no memory of when the picture in his hand had been taken, but the pure joy in Sherlock’s face was priceless. It was how he wished he could see his brother, how he wished he would remember him the day the idiot miscalculated the amount of cocaine he put into his arm.
It was because of the memory of that purity, that childhood happiness, that Mycroft still kept at it, why he persisted to reach out a hand to Sherlock even though Sherlock didn’t want his help anymore. The photograph helped Mycroft remember that they had been brothers once and made him nurture the naive hope that maybe they would be again one day.
If Sherlock cared to live long enough that was.
“Good luck in Frankfurt. I’ll have your calls re-directed to my mobile during until you return,” Mycroft ended the phone conversation and hung up. If the monetary union really did collapse this week it would, without a doubt, be the worst possible time for Sherlock to have a relapse. Maybe there wasn’t a ‘good’ time to fall back into an addiction, but there were defiantly better and worse times to do it.
“At least you were cute as a child,” Mycroft told the younger boy in the photograph with a sigh and – illogical as it might be – he stroke with one finger over the surface.
“Sir?”
“No.” Mycroft didn’t care what it was, the answer was still no.
“Your car is here,” Anthea said with a sympathetic smile, “You need to get to Westminster before 3 o’clock.”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Mycroft cleared his throat and stood up. Carefully he buttoned his suit jacket, turned off his computer and shredded one document. The last thing he did was to fold the photograph in the middle, following the very distinct pre-folded line, and place it back in his wallet. Little brother, out of sight and out of mind for a while, because the Foreign Office needed him.
Sometimes Mycroft wondered if he had his priorities wrong.
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Date: 2011-10-19 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-19 06:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-19 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-19 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-14 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-14 10:45 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading and commenting.
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Date: 2013-08-12 12:37 pm (UTC)It is a difficult relationship...
I wonder if Season 3 is finally going to show us the photograph of Sherlock and Mycroft that is supposedly the only personal picture that Sherlock keeps at 221B?
It's both nice and sad at the same time to think that Mycroft also has a picture of Sherlock.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-14 06:41 pm (UTC)I like that Mark (I think it was him at least) said that they won't include anything concrete about the Holmes brothers' childhood. It leaves space for a lot of speculations and headcanoning and I think that's what keeps me going in the fandom :D But the picutre... I'd love to see that one!