Death Is A Friend

The Best Pair In All The World

"Sherlock, how are you feeling?" was Mycroft's poor way of breaking the tense silence. Sherlock frowned, rather unamused by his awkward way of introduction. Well of course Sherlock was feeling miserable, due entirely to Mycroft's little tip to their Father about Sherlock's brand new sexual preferences.
"I'm feeling alright." Sherlock said a bit forcefully. Well of course it wasn't too much of a lie, for his body hurt yet his soul was just glowing! All in all the feelings canceled each other out, and alright was just the word to describe it. Mycroft nodded, getting to his feet and shutting the trap door as quietly as he could. It still made quite a loud bang, yet it was the thought that counted in the end. Now Mycroft took to adapting himself to the awkward silence, standing with his umbrella at his feet and still managing to look like the guilty one. Sherlock wondered what Mycroft couldn't get out of his head, for surely there were details of that night that he couldn't easily forget. How could he look at his younger brother and not get that vivid, startlingly familiar picture of being so desperate on Victor's behalf? How could he not recognize Sherlock's hunger as his own, and mourn for the fact that in the end it would be Sherlock that won Victor's heart? Well of course the reason Mycroft was unworthy was due entirely to the fact that he was much too alive, it never would've worked out between them. That and he would never have found it within himself to do what was necessary. He never would be capable of murder.
"I suppose I owe you some sort of..."
"You don't." Sherlock interrupted abruptly, for in all honesty even he understood that such harsh actions were necessary. They even worked, for a little while that is. For a couple of days Sherlock was willing to avoid the morgue, to avoid all attempts at escaping this horrible prison. Mostly because he was too afraid for Victor's safety. While that man may act like an immortal God, he certainly wasn't. And should Mr. Holmes or even Mycroft discover that Sherlock had broken out and run to him again, well they'd have the police involved...or maybe something worse. They could imprison Victor for all sorts of things, really just pool all the crimes in a hat and pick one, and he's probably guilty of it. Yet the worst case scenario was Mr. Holmes, that holy man, and his shotgun. He would not hesitate to turn the barrel towards either one of them, his disgrace of a son or the immoral mortician. There were so many worse case scenarios, and all of them of course ended with permanent separation. All of them ended with Victor going to a place where Sherlock couldn't follow.
"I feel as though I acted harshly. And maybe it was justified, yet I still feel...well I feel guilty I suppose. Guilty, as if I had been the one hitting you." Mycroft admitted with a great sigh.
"I was crazy that night, Mycroft. Perhaps you were too. I was running on so much adrenaline, and obsession, and madness. I was angry at John, I was lost in my feelings for Victor I was...I was just let off my leash I suppose. But I'm done; I don't want anything to do with Victor Trevor ever again. I've had time to think it over, and I realized in my seclusion that he wasn't any good for me. He was a bad influence, in all sorts of ways, and he even put that horrible charm on me, just as he had with you." Sherlock admitted with a great sigh. Oh it almost hurt, saying such bad things about Victor. Sherlock felt his heart lurch in protest as his lips delivered such untruthful words, yet he could do nothing but play the part Mycroft would want him to play. That big brother of his, well he would want to know for sure that Sherlock wasn't going to run off and do exactly what he wasn't supposed to be doing.
"It relieves me to hear that." Mycroft admitted finally. "Yet Sherlock, I must admit that I'm still worried about you. I feel as though you've fallen in love without your own consent."
"That's why I need John, Mycroft. I need to see him as soon as possible; you need to let me go to him. My heart still pulls in the wrong direction; I need to set it straight. I need to make this right." Sherlock insisted breathlessly. Mycroft heaved a great sigh, yet in all honesty there was no way he was going to try to counter such a tempting offer. People chose what they want to hear, whether that be the truth or not, whether it even be sensible or not. Mycroft wanted to believe that the scene from the other night had completely erased itself. He wanted to believe that he had done no permanent damage to his younger brother by introducing him to Victor, and he wanted to think that Sherlock and John were soulmates all along. Oh what ridiculous fantasies, yet all the same the man seemed convinced of himself. He looked excited, as if he was thrilled that his brother's love life was shaping into the thing he wanted it to be.
"Alright then, John Watson. That can be arranged." Mycroft agreed rather stiffly, as if he was trying to hide his enthusiasm behind a mask of hesitance. He never liked Sherlock thinking he agreed with him, yet it was no mystery that this was exactly what he wanted to hear.
"How soon?" Sherlock asked in something of a whine. Mycroft thought for a moment, obviously making very quick calculations in his head. Then again, if he was as eager as Sherlock expected him to be, it would be a time that suited both of their ambitions.
"Well tonight is possible, I assume. If Mr. Watson is not doing anything important..."
"This is more important. Tell him that. Guarantee him that. Tell him that I'm sorry, and that I truly miss him. I want to start over. Tell him that...that I messed up." Sherlock muttered, trying to put as much regret into his voice as he could possibly manage. It was rather humiliating, having to talk this way about his past self. As if he was guilty of so many crimes, when in fact he would do everything again if he could. Well in fact, he was going to do everything again, this time at a much greater scale! This time lives would be lost and lovers would finally be connected, reunited so to speak, into their final and permanent places. Beyond this there was nothing, and apart from this, there was grief.
"Yes alright. I'm sure he'll appreciate that. I do think, honestly, that he loves you very much." Mycroft decided a bit obviously, as if he was just realizing this now.
"Yes, it's curious, isn't it? He didn't even know me before last month, and now that football star is in love with me. What a moron, really." Sherlock admitted with something of a guilty chuckle.
"Oh indeed, he really is foolish. Yet all the same, it's not a bad match." Mycroft decided with a little shrug.
"No, in fact I think it's quite a wonderful pairing." Sherlock admitted with a little grin, to which Mycroft nodded his head in agreement.
"The best pairing in all the world." Mycroft agreed, tapping his umbrella excitedly on the ground and staring at his little brother proudly. Surely he never thought he'd see the day that his younger brother found his soulmate (well, in this case he never really did, or rather he never approved of the real soulmate). As soon as Sherlock was born Mycroft was probably preparing himself for the end, preparing for that struggling little baby to just give up. All of these milestones in Sherlock's life, as insignificant as it had been thus far, were probably all little surprises for the man. Surely he expected to know his younger brother for a couple of weeks before he was an only child once more.
"So go call him! What are you doing staring at me for?" Sherlock insisted, jumping up and down with honest impatience and trying to ease his brother out of the room. Well of course there wasn't a phone in here, the parents would never let him get in touch with the outside world. And so Mycroft had to hustle downstairs, and quickly, if he wanted to give John time to cancel whatever plans he might have had.