Frozenlock

Chapter 2

AN: The rewrites of "Do You Want to Build a Snowman" in this chapter are not by me. I found two rewrites on Tumblr and mashed them together, but I don't remember who did the orginals. For all the other songs, however, I will be rewriting all of them, along with the rest of the story.

Hope that you enjoy this chapter! Thanks again to Eric for reviewing and editing the story.

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Sherlock sat in his room, staring out the window. He swung his legs back and forth against the bed and sighed. “I’m bored!” he cried, flopping backwards onto the bed and blowing the white strand of hair that fell into his face. Redbeard, who lay against the wall where Mycroft once slept, lifted his ears at the cry, but made no other movement. “I want to play pirates,” Sherlock whined. After slowly sliding off the bed and onto the floor, he walked out into the hallway, eyeing Mycroft’s door. Skipping up to it, he knocked on the door five times.

“Mycroft?” he called. “Do you want to play some pirates? Come on let’s go and play!” Sherlock waited for a response, but when he received none, he dropped to the floor and peered under the door. “I never see you anymore. Come out the door. It’s like you’ve gone away,” he said, tapping his foot impatiently. Giving up with a sad sigh, he returned to his room. He retrieved the wooden sword from under his bed and pretended to fight someone. “We used to pillage and plunder, but now we don’t. I wish you would tell me why,” Sherlock said, continuing to talk, even though Mycroft couldn’t hear him. In frustration, he threw down the sword and ran back to Mycroft’s door. “Do you want to play some pirates?” he asked louder. “It doesn’t have to be just pirates,” he called through the keyhole.

“Go away, Sherlock!” Mycroft snapped from behind the door.

Sherlock backed away, surprised and hurt. “Okay, bye,” he said quietly, running down the hallway as he fought back tears.

Inside the room, Mycroft stood at the window, staring out longingly. He placed his hands on the windowsill and ice quickly spread across, seeping from his fingertips. In horror, he shrunk back, scared of himself and of the powers inside of him.

Later that evening, his father came to see him and gave him leather gloves. “The gloves will help,” the king said as he slipped them onto Mycroft’s hands, careful not to touch his skin. He gently patted his hand. “See, you’re good. Conceal it,” he started.

“Don’t feel it,” Mycroft replied.

“Don’t let it show,” they said together, finishing with a nod.

Four years later, after giving up on trying to get Mycroft out of his room, Sherlock tried again. Running up to the door and knocking, he called, “Do you want to play deductions?” When he heard nothing, he ran to his room and grabbed a game and returned to Mycroft’s door. “Or Operation in the hall?” he asked, starting to play the game by himself. “I think some company is overdue, I’ve started talking to this plastic little skull. Isn’t that right Billy?” Sherlock said, pulling a small skull from his pocket, which he made nod. Lying back against the door, he called, “It gets a little lonely not having you make fun of passers-by. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored!” Sherlock yelled, slamming his fist against the door as he got up and walked away, mad at his brother.

Inside the room, Mycroft paced back and forth as he panicked. Behind him, ice crawled across the wall. The king and queen came to see him to try and help. “I’m scared! It’s getting stronger,” he cried, starting to shake.

“Getting upset only makes it worse,” the king said calmly, trying to hug Mycroft.

“No!” he yelled, backing away. “Don’t touch me, please. I don’t want to hurt you.” The king and queen looked at each other, unsure of what to do, sadness in both their eyes. They left Mycroft, not touching him as he wished.