Sherlock: Dreaming Through The Noise
Title: Dreaming Through The Noise
Wordcount: 939
Rating: PG
Characters: Mycroft, Anthea, mention of Sherlock
Prompt(s): This was based off of a prompt in the kink meme but I have absolutely no idea where that went.
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Summary: Mycroft Holmes lives in his own world, one where he's only a 'civil servant', where he has an assistant, where his brother runs around as a consulting detective. This is not the real world.
["Good morning Mycroft."
He looks up from the book he's reading, his eyes immediately trained on her. "Good morning, Doctor."
"How are you feeling today?" She just got in, probably visited her office before coming to see him. She hasn't eaten breakfast yet and after she's done speaking with him, she'll probably go pick something up.
He smiles at her, closing the book. "Quite well, actually. Yourself?"]
The world is frayed at the edges. Not anywhere noticeable, not anywhere that matters, but on the edges, in the cracks at the corner of his vision. He can see the world bend and break in small ways and it worries him, makes him wonder what's going to happen next.
But he's is a busy man, he doesn't have time to worry about the frayed edges of the world when it's probably only his imagination or possibly a simple need for glasses, so he pushes it to the back of his mind and goes back to the document he was working on. It's nothing difficult, just a treaty that needs to be looked over, but it is rather urgent, despite it's simplicity and he must get it done.
His assistant walks through the door and he only looks up for half a second. Her Blackberry is in one hand, as per usual, and in the other is a small set of files.
"Good morning, sir." She says after leaving the files on his desk.
"Good morning."
[She looks over a sheet of paper for a moment. "Tell me about your brother?"
He laughs. "Sherlock?"
"Yes, he came to see you yesterday, didn't he?"
"Indeed he did." He folds his hands in front of him and studies her. "What would you like to know about him?"
"What do you feel like telling me?"]
He visits his brother because it's the right thing to do. Observing his movements on any number of CDTVs, while useful, does not make up for human contact.
He arrives at 221 Baker Street with little incident. While heading up the stairs however, he is greeted with the sight of both Sherlock and John Watson at the door and clearly in the midsts of leaving.
"Sherlock--"
"Not now Mycroft, something infinitely more interesting than you has come up!" His brother rushes past him. John does the same but at least has the sensibility to look apologetic about it.
[He refuses to eat.
He's not trying to be trouble, not really, he's just not hungry. There's no need for food right now.
They encourage him to eat, try and get him to take a couple of bites but he shakes his head. Not today, perhaps tomorrow.]
He's off to lunch with diplomats in a few minutes. It could be worse really, he enjoys the intricacies of dealing with people, even though some of it can get tiring and he's not seen this particular set of gentlemen in a while.
He studies himself in the mirror, looking over everything with a critical eye. He told his brother recently that he'd been losing weight but he's not sure. Perhaps he had been but at the moment he's having his doubts.
His assistant knocks on the door before peeking inside. "The car is here, sir."
"Thank you."
Perhaps he'll be eating light today.
[He's taken his medication, cleaned up, changed and now sits at the edge of the bed with a book in his hands.
He won't be able to concentrate soon, the words will bleed together and he won't be able to decipher one letter from the next but he's taking these last few minutes for himself.
It feels good to do this, to sit and read and simply be left alone. He puts up with the doctors and the therapists and the staff but he really would just like to be left alone.
The medication makes him yawn and he sighs, closing the book and putting it on the small table next to him.
[Overall, he deems it a good day.
He was productive, getting a number of things tthat desperately needed tending to taken care of, he'd eaten one excellent meal, he made sure his brother was not arrested and he even had time to take a few minutes for himself and read.
He closes his eyes, taking a deep, satisfied breath. Yes, it was definitely a good day.
Finishing up his nightly rituals, he lays down in bed and closes his eyes. His body feels heavy and his mind clouded. It's not an unpleant feeling, not exactly and he doesn't have much time to really consider it before he falls asleep.
[Mycroft dreams.
He dreams about black cars and paperwork. He dreams about his doctor who's not his doctor at all. He dreams about his brother and John and a life where he's chasing after Sherlock instead of the other way around.
He dreams about the world and all that he needs to do to take care of it and he dreams about sweet pastries.
He dreams about a life that he only faintly remembers.]
Mycroft dreams.
He dreams about a hospital, about his assistant who's not his assistant at all. He dreams about his brother and John and a life where he's chasing after Sherlock instead of the other way around.
He dreams about a world that doesn't need him and he dreams about the taste of hospital food.
He dreams about a life that he only faintly remembers.
["Good morning, Mycroft."
He looks up at his assistant, arching a brow at her. "Good morning, Hera."
She sighs and he can't understand why she seems to be almost disappointed.]
Wordcount: 939
Rating: PG
Characters: Mycroft, Anthea, mention of Sherlock
Prompt(s): This was based off of a prompt in the kink meme but I have absolutely no idea where that went.
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Summary: Mycroft Holmes lives in his own world, one where he's only a 'civil servant', where he has an assistant, where his brother runs around as a consulting detective. This is not the real world.
["Good morning Mycroft."
He looks up from the book he's reading, his eyes immediately trained on her. "Good morning, Doctor."
"How are you feeling today?" She just got in, probably visited her office before coming to see him. She hasn't eaten breakfast yet and after she's done speaking with him, she'll probably go pick something up.
He smiles at her, closing the book. "Quite well, actually. Yourself?"]
The world is frayed at the edges. Not anywhere noticeable, not anywhere that matters, but on the edges, in the cracks at the corner of his vision. He can see the world bend and break in small ways and it worries him, makes him wonder what's going to happen next.
But he's is a busy man, he doesn't have time to worry about the frayed edges of the world when it's probably only his imagination or possibly a simple need for glasses, so he pushes it to the back of his mind and goes back to the document he was working on. It's nothing difficult, just a treaty that needs to be looked over, but it is rather urgent, despite it's simplicity and he must get it done.
His assistant walks through the door and he only looks up for half a second. Her Blackberry is in one hand, as per usual, and in the other is a small set of files.
"Good morning, sir." She says after leaving the files on his desk.
"Good morning."
[She looks over a sheet of paper for a moment. "Tell me about your brother?"
He laughs. "Sherlock?"
"Yes, he came to see you yesterday, didn't he?"
"Indeed he did." He folds his hands in front of him and studies her. "What would you like to know about him?"
"What do you feel like telling me?"]
He visits his brother because it's the right thing to do. Observing his movements on any number of CDTVs, while useful, does not make up for human contact.
He arrives at 221 Baker Street with little incident. While heading up the stairs however, he is greeted with the sight of both Sherlock and John Watson at the door and clearly in the midsts of leaving.
"Sherlock--"
"Not now Mycroft, something infinitely more interesting than you has come up!" His brother rushes past him. John does the same but at least has the sensibility to look apologetic about it.
[He refuses to eat.
He's not trying to be trouble, not really, he's just not hungry. There's no need for food right now.
They encourage him to eat, try and get him to take a couple of bites but he shakes his head. Not today, perhaps tomorrow.]
He's off to lunch with diplomats in a few minutes. It could be worse really, he enjoys the intricacies of dealing with people, even though some of it can get tiring and he's not seen this particular set of gentlemen in a while.
He studies himself in the mirror, looking over everything with a critical eye. He told his brother recently that he'd been losing weight but he's not sure. Perhaps he had been but at the moment he's having his doubts.
His assistant knocks on the door before peeking inside. "The car is here, sir."
"Thank you."
Perhaps he'll be eating light today.
[He's taken his medication, cleaned up, changed and now sits at the edge of the bed with a book in his hands.
He won't be able to concentrate soon, the words will bleed together and he won't be able to decipher one letter from the next but he's taking these last few minutes for himself.
It feels good to do this, to sit and read and simply be left alone. He puts up with the doctors and the therapists and the staff but he really would just like to be left alone.
The medication makes him yawn and he sighs, closing the book and putting it on the small table next to him.
[Overall, he deems it a good day.
He was productive, getting a number of things tthat desperately needed tending to taken care of, he'd eaten one excellent meal, he made sure his brother was not arrested and he even had time to take a few minutes for himself and read.
He closes his eyes, taking a deep, satisfied breath. Yes, it was definitely a good day.
Finishing up his nightly rituals, he lays down in bed and closes his eyes. His body feels heavy and his mind clouded. It's not an unpleant feeling, not exactly and he doesn't have much time to really consider it before he falls asleep.
[Mycroft dreams.
He dreams about black cars and paperwork. He dreams about his doctor who's not his doctor at all. He dreams about his brother and John and a life where he's chasing after Sherlock instead of the other way around.
He dreams about the world and all that he needs to do to take care of it and he dreams about sweet pastries.
He dreams about a life that he only faintly remembers.]
Mycroft dreams.
He dreams about a hospital, about his assistant who's not his assistant at all. He dreams about his brother and John and a life where he's chasing after Sherlock instead of the other way around.
He dreams about a world that doesn't need him and he dreams about the taste of hospital food.
He dreams about a life that he only faintly remembers.
["Good morning, Mycroft."
He looks up at his assistant, arching a brow at her. "Good morning, Hera."
She sighs and he can't understand why she seems to be almost disappointed.]