Fic for Watson woes prompt 30: "Forgiveness is a Divine Quality."
Title: "Forgiveness is a Divine Quality."
Author: ariadnechan
Rating: PG.
Fandom: Sherlock and related Fandoms
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Summary: Sitting in front of his brother sometimes was like been in front of a mirror.
Warnings: Implied slash.
Word Count: 830 approx
Author's Notes: Prompt of watsons_woes #30 Mirror, Mirror:
Write a story from a minor character's point of view, where he or she sees something similar between him/herself and Sherlock Holmes.
I maybe deviate a little because maybe Mycroft it's not so minor character, but i didn't noticed until now.
Beta: Now betaed by my amazing friend mildred_bobbin
Master Fic for this challenge: on LJ
Mycroft Holmes was sitting in front of his baby brother trying and failing again to have a productive conversation.
He knew it was difficult that two persons so alike and so different as he and his brother should be in good terms again. Forgive and forget was not part of the emblem of the Holmes family and clearly a trait neither of them possessed.
Mycroft knew were their similarities lay, the stature, the presence, the voice, the easy leadership, the social awkwardness, as children knowing that no one was like you and you would be surrounded by idiots forever was never easy. They both radiated their love for elegance in the English language, they held the old aristocratic blood in their working clothes, movements and they carried the big libraries of their house, Eaton and Cambridge in their heads.
They love music, art and good wine, together as a team they could had the world under their feet, but just there it was the difference; Sherlock was an idealist, he wanted to be a pirate as a kid instead of an emperor. He wanted adventure, resolving puzzles about the criminal mind, engaging them and surpassing them, but not every petty delinquent, he wanted to fight master criminals, serial killers find what made them tick and disarmed them, like a puzzle. He wanted to prove he was clever to the world that had treated him like a freak.
Mycroft wanted to use the void-headed people in his path, to lead them for the good of the country and the good of his ambition. Masses didn't know where they were going or how to survive the great game of world's politics, but Mycroft knew the song several tunes ahead. So after his awkward childhood, he had decided to use his intelligence and he began to collect people and use his training in social niceties as a gun, a smile here a gesture there,” I could help you” over here, “I would never betray you” over there. With his intelligence was far too easy to secure the rest.
The elder Holmes could see reflected in Sherlock's grey eyes that he still lamented deep inside that Mycroft had left him to deal with genius alone. It was hard for a person as vulnerable as Sherlock, he knew this even then. But Mycroft was not their parents, and at the time, he needed to get out and forged a life for himself. Sherlock needed complete devotion, and the elder Holmes couldn't give it to him, less so given the fact that Sherlock would never follow him into the government and Mycroft was so young that he had felt that as a betrayal then.
He had thought his parents would take more care of the boy seeing as he was away looking in his university's studies and early carrier; he needed to be selfish if he wanted to be great. But they left Sherlock to his own devices, and he turned to his experiments and drugs, Mycroft couldn't forgive himself for this, when he had the chance to comeback was too late for them.
He couldn't change the past or the present apparently. Mycroft had found the little doctor-soldier a menace, and he tried to making disappear from his brother life, or use him, but the man was a wild shot. John Watson believe himself in control of his life, and he would do everything even starve to death for his convictions. Sherlock had found him fascinating, even if he hadn't understood the man yet, maybe that's why he liked him, maybe it was something more profound.
John Watson, who, not only trusted his brother with his own life, but he believed in him so blindly that John Watson gave away his health, his security and would give away his life for him. But at the same time had no problem punching him or shouting at him if he did something very wrong, but also force-feeding him and knocking him out to sleep if it was necessary with the patience only a saint or a mad man.
In a way both of them were wild mad extraordinary men, and Mycroft was a little envious, of course, he had no one who would die for him, because love. Neither Sherlock, nor John had acknowledged this love 'till now, which was bigger and stronger everyday he observed it.
In that moment the man himself entered the premises, and the magic mirror disappeared.
“Sherlock, Mycroft?” said the blond man as a salute with his patented smile.
“Don't worry; my brother was leaving because he knows I will not help him in his little shams,” said Sherlock with disdain while focusing on the doctor.
“It's all right Doctor Watson, I said what I needed, and I was ready to go, if you'll excuse me gentlemen. Here there are the pertinent documents if you change your mind brother dear. You know where to find
me.” With that Mycroft said his goodbyes and left.
He hopped his brother could accomplish happiness even if he would never talk about it with him, because Sherlock would never forgive that Mycroft left him alone when he needed him most, and Mycroft would never forget it.
Author: ariadnechan
Rating: PG.
Fandom: Sherlock and related Fandoms
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Summary: Sitting in front of his brother sometimes was like been in front of a mirror.
Warnings: Implied slash.
Word Count: 830 approx
Author's Notes: Prompt of watsons_woes #30 Mirror, Mirror:
Write a story from a minor character's point of view, where he or she sees something similar between him/herself and Sherlock Holmes.
I maybe deviate a little because maybe Mycroft it's not so minor character, but i didn't noticed until now.
Beta: Now betaed by my amazing friend mildred_bobbin
Master Fic for this challenge: on LJ
Mycroft Holmes was sitting in front of his baby brother trying and failing again to have a productive conversation.
He knew it was difficult that two persons so alike and so different as he and his brother should be in good terms again. Forgive and forget was not part of the emblem of the Holmes family and clearly a trait neither of them possessed.
Mycroft knew were their similarities lay, the stature, the presence, the voice, the easy leadership, the social awkwardness, as children knowing that no one was like you and you would be surrounded by idiots forever was never easy. They both radiated their love for elegance in the English language, they held the old aristocratic blood in their working clothes, movements and they carried the big libraries of their house, Eaton and Cambridge in their heads.
They love music, art and good wine, together as a team they could had the world under their feet, but just there it was the difference; Sherlock was an idealist, he wanted to be a pirate as a kid instead of an emperor. He wanted adventure, resolving puzzles about the criminal mind, engaging them and surpassing them, but not every petty delinquent, he wanted to fight master criminals, serial killers find what made them tick and disarmed them, like a puzzle. He wanted to prove he was clever to the world that had treated him like a freak.
Mycroft wanted to use the void-headed people in his path, to lead them for the good of the country and the good of his ambition. Masses didn't know where they were going or how to survive the great game of world's politics, but Mycroft knew the song several tunes ahead. So after his awkward childhood, he had decided to use his intelligence and he began to collect people and use his training in social niceties as a gun, a smile here a gesture there,” I could help you” over here, “I would never betray you” over there. With his intelligence was far too easy to secure the rest.
The elder Holmes could see reflected in Sherlock's grey eyes that he still lamented deep inside that Mycroft had left him to deal with genius alone. It was hard for a person as vulnerable as Sherlock, he knew this even then. But Mycroft was not their parents, and at the time, he needed to get out and forged a life for himself. Sherlock needed complete devotion, and the elder Holmes couldn't give it to him, less so given the fact that Sherlock would never follow him into the government and Mycroft was so young that he had felt that as a betrayal then.
He had thought his parents would take more care of the boy seeing as he was away looking in his university's studies and early carrier; he needed to be selfish if he wanted to be great. But they left Sherlock to his own devices, and he turned to his experiments and drugs, Mycroft couldn't forgive himself for this, when he had the chance to comeback was too late for them.
He couldn't change the past or the present apparently. Mycroft had found the little doctor-soldier a menace, and he tried to making disappear from his brother life, or use him, but the man was a wild shot. John Watson believe himself in control of his life, and he would do everything even starve to death for his convictions. Sherlock had found him fascinating, even if he hadn't understood the man yet, maybe that's why he liked him, maybe it was something more profound.
John Watson, who, not only trusted his brother with his own life, but he believed in him so blindly that John Watson gave away his health, his security and would give away his life for him. But at the same time had no problem punching him or shouting at him if he did something very wrong, but also force-feeding him and knocking him out to sleep if it was necessary with the patience only a saint or a mad man.
In a way both of them were wild mad extraordinary men, and Mycroft was a little envious, of course, he had no one who would die for him, because love. Neither Sherlock, nor John had acknowledged this love 'till now, which was bigger and stronger everyday he observed it.
In that moment the man himself entered the premises, and the magic mirror disappeared.
“Sherlock, Mycroft?” said the blond man as a salute with his patented smile.
“Don't worry; my brother was leaving because he knows I will not help him in his little shams,” said Sherlock with disdain while focusing on the doctor.
“It's all right Doctor Watson, I said what I needed, and I was ready to go, if you'll excuse me gentlemen. Here there are the pertinent documents if you change your mind brother dear. You know where to find
me.” With that Mycroft said his goodbyes and left.
He hopped his brother could accomplish happiness even if he would never talk about it with him, because Sherlock would never forgive that Mycroft left him alone when he needed him most, and Mycroft would never forget it.