The Autobiography of Mycroft Holmes

Chapter 16: Love That Shouldn't Last

I have been putting this off for a while but I think it is time for you, the reader, to meet Chris Rogers.

I met him about a half a year after the night of Robert Saylor's murder. Sadly enough, I was still solving the case of the murder.

That year, Christmas and New Year's had gone by uneventfully. I had eventually made up with Sherlock, but the Diogenes Club murder case was still a touchy subject.

Lestrade's wedding was pushed back to May of the next year. It was April of the next year; approaching the one-month-anniversary of Sherlock's graduation from University when I began to lose my mind. I kept hearing the mournful voices in my head of people at the crime scene. The voice of Tom Saylor, though, was the worst.

He and I had that conversation we never had; the one where I told him I was sorry for what happened to his grandfather and that I would solve the case if it killed me because they were like family to me.

There was, however, one night when I almost snapped. I had heard earlier that day that Jervich, leader of the Juniors, had finally been kicked out of the Diogenes Club. They wanted me to take his place. I received the list of instructions; my jobs for when I became leader of the Juniors. But I could not do it. Not with the pressure I was under to solve the murder.

I knew, I just knew in that moment that I could not do it. But the allure, the temptation for more power was intoxicating... I had to employ all my self-control not to scream 'yes!' at the men and just go for it on the spot. But it would have been incredibly uncharacteristic of me, so I avoided it at all costs.

And that was not all. I was thus expected, if things went along at the rate they were proceeding at, to become the replacement of Robert Saylor. I knew this as well as Tom did, but he did not pressure me. He was surprisingly supportive of me; I was not sure at the time if he knew I was not well or if he was also not well himself. But either way, I had his blessing.

I was stretched out on the couch that night, hands in a steeple in front of my face, nearly unconscious because my mind was in such turmoil.

Sherlock had no idea. She was off with Lestrade, solving a case. It was late, later than her normal returning-home time. This was only one of the million thoughts that was going through my head. I was in what Sherlock now calls her 'mind attic,' but I was not strolling through like she does.

I was running around, ripping files out of the cabinets and compartments they belonged in.
But it was not like I could have told Sherlock anyway, since it was such a sensitive topic. I was not entirely sure she'd listen.

I thought of some painful things that night; things I could never mention here. Those things will live and die with me only.

I had to get out of my head. I sat up and tried to stand, but my mind was not allowing my body to stand. I suddenly felt extremely nauseated. But I could not move from the sitting-up launching point that a person would normally use to get up from a chair.

My self-restraint, ironically, prevailed one more time for me. I got up after about ten minutes, and staggered to the door. I lifted my coat off the hanger on the door and left my flat after making sure my house keys were in my pocket. How I even did that, I still have no idea.

I walked outside. It was beginning to get warmer, as it was indeed Spring. That spurned a million more thoughts to flood into my head. But my brain attic was too clogged with thoughts, and I was only beginning to re-organize them in my tired state.

I saw on the corner a small coffee shop that I had not noticed before. Only later did I realize why; I was ten blocks away from my house by that time. I thought I had only gone one block away. Oh, well, I'd have to get back eventually.