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Sherlock Holmes (reasonbackward) wrote in colligo_threads,
@ 2011-04-16 12:31:00

Entry tags:

!@event, !closed, mycroft holmes, sherlock holmes

WHO: Sherlock Holmes & Mycroft Holmes
WHAT: Sherlock has been struck once again by the honesty bug, and this time, Mycroft is here to witness it.
WHEN: After this
WHERE: Sherlock's Apartment
RATING: PG
STATUS: In Progress

Sherlock should have expected that. Whenever Mycroft had had the slightest whiff of anything being off about Sherlock, he had always seemed to show up with absolutely no warning. When they were children, when he was in college, the first flat he'd moved into, the bombing, his brother had always seemed to have a bead on the exact moments when his presence would be the least (and most) appreciated. This time, however, Sherlock had provided that notice himself, and even as much as he didn't want to see his brother since he knew exactly what that would lead to with him in this state, Sherlock knew that he could hardly avoid the other man until this passed again. It had taken weeks last time, and Mycroft was not the sort of person to let him go that long without being pestered. It was best to just get this over and done with. Not to mention, Sherlock sort of wanted to see his brother as well if only to divulge the sheer amount of things that he had never told him.

It would be a relief to finally get them off his chest.

Even if Mycroft would never let him hear the end of it.

As Sherlock pulled the door open, his housecoat swishing about his lean frame at the action, he blinked at the buzzing of his phone and looked down, pulling up the last text that Mycroft had sent, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the man standing in front of him. "There is no principle in refusing to open your own doors," He said, looking his brother over and fiercely biting his tongue against all of the things that he wanted to say, that he was being forced to want to say. It seemed that the second that he opened his mouth, something would come pouring out, so instead of inviting his brother inside verbally, he just stepped aside and gestured.

Better to let Mycroft start this out than immediately info dump.

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hisarchenemy
2011-04-17 06:04 pm UTC (link)

The moment Mycroft had received the initial text messages, he had left his flat and made his way to his brother's. With Sherlock in some sort of duress it was safe to assume the man would not be out and about on the streets. Mycroft busied himself with continuing the conversation as he navigated the corridors and stairwells, leading to his brother's flat. When it opened, he gave the younger man a genial sort of smile and stepped inside at the silent invitation.

"I must admit, I am a bit surprised you agreed to see me so readily," Mycroft greeted his brother, hooking his umbrella from his arm as he turned to face the man, hands clasped loosely together. Truth be told, he was a touch worried about Sherlock but he knew such concern would go unwanted with the heightened emotions at the moment, so he bit down on it and instead focused on the menial.

"I assume this honesty comes accompanied with a compulsion. The last time it affected you, how long did it last?" It seemed like idle chatter and, in a way, was. But it was far better than discussing feelings. At least, for the time being.

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reasonbackward
2011-04-17 06:25 pm UTC (link)

The age difference between the two of them had always proved to be the greatest complication in the brothers' relationship. Had they been closer in age, or perhaps even further apart, Sherlock might not have viewed Mycroft's concern as patronization and his insistence on checking up on his well being as an expression of his brother's certainty that he could not take care of himself. But as it was, once he'd slipped past the idealization that came with childhood and into the maniac doldrums that populated adolescence, Sherlock had gone from seeking his brother's approval and concern to loathing it and had gone out of it his way to make it obvious to Mycroft just how much he didn't want or need him around.

Even if it was a blatant lie.

"A couple of weeks," Sherlock said, relieved at the moment to have a straight-forward question to answer rather than being pushed into more of that compulsion. "The first week, we were only required to answer questions that were posed to us, but the second, we were compelled to speak whatever crossed our minds whenever it did. However, it seems I have skipped directly to compulsion."

So much so that even after answering Mycroft's question, he still felt the force pushing him, pushing until his mouth opened of its own accord and the words came out without a second thought, "Why do you have to be better than me at everything?"

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hisarchenemy
2011-04-20 03:29 pm UTC (link)

Having begun to make his way toward the sitting room, Mycroft paused at the question. He glanced toward Sherlock with a slightly raised brow, his lips twitching for a few faint seconds before he replied, "I'm not better than you, Sherlock. I'm simply far better at fitting in."

Whether it was how he truly felt or not was anyone's guess. Personally he was glad for the ability to lie. He wasn't a dishonest person by nature but the unfettered truth was a bit much, even for him. Particularly when he was making a power play in the city, and especially with his brother also in such close proximity. No, Colligo could not handle both of the Holmes men being brutally honest with everyone they came in contact with. Particularly each other.

Continuing into the sitting area, Mycroft hung his umbrella from the armrest of the nearest chair and sat down in it. He steepled his fingers while turning his full attention to Sherlock. "You always did struggle with understanding others," he said finally. He saw no reason to make a change in conversation. It was clear that whatever was on Sherlock's mind was going to determine the direction of the conversation.

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reasonbackward
2011-04-21 12:57 pm UTC (link)

Sherlock sat as well, settling himself awkwardly on the couch across from Mycroft and resting his hands nervously on his knees, clenching and unclenching his fingers about them. "Because people are impossible," Sherlock said, voicing the thought that he'd held since he was very young. The other children had never made any sense to him, that they would do and say the most illogical things only to label him as the oddity, the individual who was able to pick out the inconsistencies and point out the situation how it was truly playing out. It wasn't his fault that they were so blind to these things, and he had only ever been helping when he'd made the observations when he was young. "John was the first person I met who ever made any sense."

The only one who had ever reacted to things the way that he'd hoped, who had taken things in stride, who had appreciated him for who he was as well as what he could do, and didn't judge any of it all at the same time. Even with all of the other people that he'd known, the people that he respected as well as those he'd hated, Sherlock had never found a combination of all of those qualities in any of them. Lestrade was the closest he'd come before John, and even then, Lestrade's patience with him was limited.

"Not that it mattered since they always hated me anyway," Sherlock said, looking oddly childlike as he flopped back against the couch and went slightly cross-eyed to look at the kitten that took the opportunity to leap up onto his chest. "You were the only thing that kept me sane when I was little, you know. You and mother. If it hadn't been for the two of you," He trailed off, scratching the kitten behind the ears with a sigh. "If it hadn't been for the two of you, I could have turned out just as bad as Jim did."

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hisarchenemy
2011-04-23 05:14 pm UTC (link)

"They didn't hate you, Sherlock," Mycroft corrected his brother in a surprisingly tender tone. "They simply didn't understand. How could they? They were all stuck in their mundane existences, never the wiser to how dull they truly were." It was the same conversation they'd had since they both were younger. Sherlock would insist the other children despised him, Mycroft would do his best to assure him that they merely didn't understand him, and around and around they'd go. Not wanting to have the same situation happen now, all these years later, he moved on with little more than a pause.

"Humanity as a whole is a limited species with a minimal understanding of the world around them. While you see them as a hindrance with a habit of getting in the way of your brilliance, I view them as the ultimate puzzle to be solved." And, much like with Sherlock, John was the exception to that rule. There was no solving John Watson. The man had as many issues as Sherlock himself, albeit very different ones, and hardly lived by society's standard of norm. He was confusing, infuriating, and quite possibly the best thing to happen to Sherlock in the man's entire life.

Which was precisely why Mycroft both cared for John greatly and despise him all at the same time. Because if anyone should be the best thing for Sherlock, it should be him. He was his brother. He was the one who had done everything in his power to help him as a child. While John had been busy fighting a war in another country, Mycroft had been making sure Sherlock remembered to eat. Yet along comes John Watson and what small, barely perceivable bit of good influence he'd had in his brother's life had evaporated into thin air.

In short, Mycroft Holmes was ridiculously, absolutely, and completely jealous of John Watson. And if there was ever a time he was grateful not to be forced to speak the complete truth, it was as that very thought flickered through his mind. To say such a thing out loud, to admit to it, was something Mycroft wasn't sure he could take.

So instead he focused back on Sherlock, his smile sincere if small as he studied his brother's interaction with the small kitten. "That was simply not an option," he said calmly. "I wouldn't have allowed you to become anything even remotely similar." He said it with absolute certainty because, as far as he was concerned it was a certainty. He would have had to have either not existed at all or have died in some rather tragic way for him to have allowed the gentle soul that was his younger brother turn into the monster that was James Moriarty.

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reasonbackward
2011-04-27 10:01 am UTC (link)

"People aren't puzzles. They're dull. Dull, dull, dull, dull, DULL. All so obvious when they think they're being clever and crafty, very little sport whatsoever," Sherlock said with a slight huff, scooping up the kitten briefly so that he could turn over without throwing her off of him with the movement. Sitting her down gently in front of the couch, he didn't seem at all perturbed as she leaped back up onto him, precariously making her way up to nest in his hair. "It's not my fault that they put it all out on display. How can I not point it out when it's right there begging to be?" Because that had always been the crux of his issue, hadn't it? He could have gotten along with people fine if he'd realized that sometimes, it was just better to keep the things that he saw to himself. But that wasn't Sherlock's way. He needed to point things out, needed to make it clear he saw them. He needed to be the cleverest person in the room because if he wasn't, then what was he?

"I know you wouldn't," Sherlock said, half pouting and half relieved. The idea that he could have ever become that bad just from neglect, from losing what little positive that he did see in the world and in the people in it, was almost too much for him to bear. But he knew that his brother would have never have let that happen. Mycroft had gone out of his way all their lives to make sure that Sherlock was happy and protected, even when Sherlock had started giving him far more trouble for doing so than he did gratitude for keeping him alive. "But I still have to wonder if it would have happened if I'd been alone."

There was a long pause where Sherlock just stared across the apartment at the opposite wall, doing his best not to make eye contact with his brother and ignoring the sensation of kitten claws against his scalp, before exhaling heavily, "You really should give him a chance, you know," Bad avenue to take with his brother during a bout of honesty, but it was what was kicking around in his mind given the conversation that he'd just had. "I mean, sure he's murderous and psychotic and completely unbalanced, but he doesn't have any real motivation to follow through on anything huge here. Well, not anymore. Not since he tried to kill John only to be murdered by John himself. That pretty much drove home the point that he should behave, at least a little."

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hisarchenemy
2011-04-28 03:40 pm UTC (link)

Mycroft wasn't certain which was more surreal: the fact that he was sitting, having a very candid discussion with his brother without the typical barriers between them or the fact that they were having such a conversation while a small kitten was making itself quite at home in Sherlock's hair... and his brother didn't seem to mind in the least. Shaking his head ever so slightly at his brother's huffing and pouting, Mycroft's tone was bemused when he replied.

"People believe their being clever because, by their standards, they are," he explained patiently but didn't dwell any further on the subject. He had tried for most of his brother's life to get the man to see people the way he did. If it hadn't happened before now, he sincerely doubted it ever would. And even if it did, it certainly wouldn't happen due to his repeating the same thing again and again.

Eyebrows raising a bit when Sherlock mentioned John had killed Moriarty, Mycroft studied his brother for a long moment before responding. When he did speak, his voice was carefully casual. This was clearly a subject that mattered to his brother so he was loathe to simply dismiss it but he was also not at all intending on actually giving James Moriarty any sort of chance.

"The fact that it is a requirement the man must be murdered before learning to behave himself says quite enough on the matter," he stated firstly. He had to admit, though, he was feeling a very strong urge to shake John Watson's hand for having done so, even if the entire situation seemed overly dramatic. "He isn't going to behave himself forever."

And therein lied the problem, in Mycroft's mind. Eventually, Moriarty was going to do something, yet again, to put Sherlock in danger. When he did, Mycroft did not want to be blind-sided by some false sense of security. Which made letting his guard down all but impossible.

"However," he added after a second, with a soft sigh born from his own (albeit ignored and denied) propensity to lean toward the dramatic just as much as his own brother, "When I take office, I've no intention upon wasting the city's precious resources harassing him unnecessarily." He stared at Sherlock for a moment longer, gaze speculative. "And I do wish I could fathom why you care in the slightest."

The last bit was said softly, almost wistfully. It wasn't like Mycroft to reveal his emotions quite so openly but, just this once, it was bothering him enough that he was willing to do so.

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reasonbackward
2011-05-01 03:23 am UTC (link)

"When. When you take office. You do have opponents, Mycroft. At least one of which is competent. It isn't as much of a certainty as you're making it out to be," Sherlock said, screwing his eyes up at his brother and wrinkling his nose. Of course Mycroft would have to wonder why he could care. The only blessing in the way that he'd phrased it was that it wasn't a question so Sherlock didn't have to answer immediately. Even as he could feel the urge to spill his guts all over the carpet rising up in him, Sherlock suppressed the urge to try and formulate his thoughts into something much more streamlined than a rush of truth with no thought put into it.

"Because he's me," Sherlock said, furrowing his brow at his brother. "And he's you as well. He's what we were, what we are, without the support proper and understanding sympathy with which we were both privileged. He might have been stripped bare of the morals that dictate our actions, but only because there was no other logical course available. Me verses him is fair, Mycroft. We're both on the same playing field with the same resources and the same thought processes. If you add yourself to the game, it tips the scales. I don't want to defeat him. Not here. I'll keep him in check if need be, but until then... Until then, he's as good as John. And you know what I'd do to you if you did anything to him."

Letting the last statement hang in the air, Sherlock allowed himself to close his eyes, taking a few breaths and try and push away any other urges that wanted to crop up, but they came anyway. Just like last time, he couldn't stop them even if he wanted to. And oh, how he wanted to. "Do you think I'm wasting my life?"

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