Enough
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: None
Kink: None
Prompt: Mycroft is extremely delusional. He really believes that he's the British government. not!Anthea is the real power. She just likes to dote on her favorite cousin. Sherlock has been torn between playing along and breaking the illusion, hence the hostility.
Warning: Delusional!Mycroft
Link: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/13188.html?thread=71006340#t71006340
The first sign occurred when Mycroft had just secured his secretarial position in the government. A true minor position. But he had started talking about the various groups in the government. He had mentioned the various protocols and started talking about a non-existent wife and non-existent children. He forgot people and imagined others, keeping only those who were integral to his delusion and forgetting those who weren’t.
For the second time in his life, Sherlock watched as someone he held dear slowly lose touch. Part of him wanted to just give up and shake his older brother, snarling that he was the reason that Sherlock started to do drugs. He couldn’t take watching his family fall apart the way it did.
Mummy was bad enough. Mycroft? It hurt too much to think.
“Why do you continue doing this?” Sherlock asked quietly. She looked up from her blasted phone and smiled at him, fingers never once stopping. A text was sent (Sherlock deduced that she was scheduling a meeting for next week, Wednesday, noon at Headquarters) and email was checked.
“I’m Gretchen today.” She insisted with a tiny quirk of her lips. She didn’t care that Mycroft wasn’t getting the help he needed.
“You saw what happened to your mother when she was with her therapist.” ‘Gretchen’ had said quietly. Mycroft with his umbrella was off to one side, happily intimidating a man into giving up a camera that no doubt, had some evidence in it.
Sherlock closed his eyes. Much as he would like to delete that particular incident, he didn’t dare to lest he forgot what Mummy was really capable of doing. The therapist had been hospitalized and was told he would never write properly again because Mummy had severed the tendons which allowed him to control his fingers.
The man was handicapped, just because he suggested to Mummy that something wasn’t quite right in her rose tinted world.
Mummy wasn’t just delusional. She was also pretty handy with a letter opener. From the age of eight, Sherlock had perceived that something wasn’t right with her when she started asking Sherlock which one of his classmates he was going to marry. She had started talking to imaginary children around him. Children that she thought belonged to him. She remained trapped in the same year ever since then. It had gotten to be too much for father, who left.
Mycroft…
He had rather hoped Mycroft wouldn’t have been subjected to this particular genetic flaw. He had hoped that neither of them would have this problem but it wasn’t to be.
“He’s rather useful, you know.” ‘Gretchen’ said conversationally. She stole a glance at Mycroft. He had opened his umbrella and was glancing at his watch impatiently.
“Acts the part, is actually intimidating and he listens to me.” She continued. The smile became a little strained. Sherlock couldn’t blame her. She had been very close with Mycroft. He didn’t remember that she was their cousin at all. He thought they had met in primary school separated in secondary school and met again when they started working for the government.
“He needs help.” Sherlock ground out between clenched teeth.
“How long are you going to keep paying that woman to pretend she’s his wife? And her children! How are they going to take this?” He hissed at her.
“There is no help.” ‘Gretchen’ replied evenly, turning her attention back to her phone. Her fingers tapped out a message quickly and sent it. It was an authorization for an unknown protocol. “You know there is no help.” She continued.
That wasn’t totally true. There was help but it was a painful kind of help. Sherlock had managed to get Mycroft to swallow the pills once, to help him stay in touch with what was real and what wasn’t. Mycroft remembered. But he was barely lucid.
Sherlock couldn’t stand to see his invincible older brother like that.
“Then let him go.” The consulting detective said quietly.
Swift fingers stopped immediately.
“I can’t do that.” She whispered. She couldn’t let go. Truth be told, Sherlock couldn’t either. Mycroft might have never reached his full potential but he had helped realize Sherlock’s and ‘Gretchen’s. He had laid the foundations when they were children and helped them build their castles.
“He’s happy.” ‘Gretchen’ said quietly. Her fingers started to move again. Another text was sent, this time informing an agent of his new ID.
“Sherlock! Will you be attending the party next Friday?” Mycroft called out, sauntering over as if he owned the world. He didn’t, but he believed he did. ‘Gretchen’ smiled at him and continued texting. Someone was fired and another was hired in the span of a minute. A large sum of money was directed to a fund to purchase more supplies for a school.
“No.” Sherlock said, gritting his teeth. He could tell Mycroft, but Mycroft was happy. He scowled at his older brother, wishing that he was still sane and still the same person who taught him how to make paper airplanes.
“Such a pity, I can guarantee it won’t be boring.” Mycroft said airily. Sherlock turned away, heart clenching fiercely.
Mycroft was happy.
That was enough.
Wasn’t it?
Pairing: None
Kink: None
Prompt: Mycroft is extremely delusional. He really believes that he's the British government. not!Anthea is the real power. She just likes to dote on her favorite cousin. Sherlock has been torn between playing along and breaking the illusion, hence the hostility.
Warning: Delusional!Mycroft
Link: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/13188.html?thread=71006340#t71006340
The first sign occurred when Mycroft had just secured his secretarial position in the government. A true minor position. But he had started talking about the various groups in the government. He had mentioned the various protocols and started talking about a non-existent wife and non-existent children. He forgot people and imagined others, keeping only those who were integral to his delusion and forgetting those who weren’t.
For the second time in his life, Sherlock watched as someone he held dear slowly lose touch. Part of him wanted to just give up and shake his older brother, snarling that he was the reason that Sherlock started to do drugs. He couldn’t take watching his family fall apart the way it did.
Mummy was bad enough. Mycroft? It hurt too much to think.
“Why do you continue doing this?” Sherlock asked quietly. She looked up from her blasted phone and smiled at him, fingers never once stopping. A text was sent (Sherlock deduced that she was scheduling a meeting for next week, Wednesday, noon at Headquarters) and email was checked.
“I’m Gretchen today.” She insisted with a tiny quirk of her lips. She didn’t care that Mycroft wasn’t getting the help he needed.
“You saw what happened to your mother when she was with her therapist.” ‘Gretchen’ had said quietly. Mycroft with his umbrella was off to one side, happily intimidating a man into giving up a camera that no doubt, had some evidence in it.
Sherlock closed his eyes. Much as he would like to delete that particular incident, he didn’t dare to lest he forgot what Mummy was really capable of doing. The therapist had been hospitalized and was told he would never write properly again because Mummy had severed the tendons which allowed him to control his fingers.
The man was handicapped, just because he suggested to Mummy that something wasn’t quite right in her rose tinted world.
Mummy wasn’t just delusional. She was also pretty handy with a letter opener. From the age of eight, Sherlock had perceived that something wasn’t right with her when she started asking Sherlock which one of his classmates he was going to marry. She had started talking to imaginary children around him. Children that she thought belonged to him. She remained trapped in the same year ever since then. It had gotten to be too much for father, who left.
Mycroft…
He had rather hoped Mycroft wouldn’t have been subjected to this particular genetic flaw. He had hoped that neither of them would have this problem but it wasn’t to be.
“He’s rather useful, you know.” ‘Gretchen’ said conversationally. She stole a glance at Mycroft. He had opened his umbrella and was glancing at his watch impatiently.
“Acts the part, is actually intimidating and he listens to me.” She continued. The smile became a little strained. Sherlock couldn’t blame her. She had been very close with Mycroft. He didn’t remember that she was their cousin at all. He thought they had met in primary school separated in secondary school and met again when they started working for the government.
“He needs help.” Sherlock ground out between clenched teeth.
“How long are you going to keep paying that woman to pretend she’s his wife? And her children! How are they going to take this?” He hissed at her.
“There is no help.” ‘Gretchen’ replied evenly, turning her attention back to her phone. Her fingers tapped out a message quickly and sent it. It was an authorization for an unknown protocol. “You know there is no help.” She continued.
That wasn’t totally true. There was help but it was a painful kind of help. Sherlock had managed to get Mycroft to swallow the pills once, to help him stay in touch with what was real and what wasn’t. Mycroft remembered. But he was barely lucid.
Sherlock couldn’t stand to see his invincible older brother like that.
“Then let him go.” The consulting detective said quietly.
Swift fingers stopped immediately.
“I can’t do that.” She whispered. She couldn’t let go. Truth be told, Sherlock couldn’t either. Mycroft might have never reached his full potential but he had helped realize Sherlock’s and ‘Gretchen’s. He had laid the foundations when they were children and helped them build their castles.
“He’s happy.” ‘Gretchen’ said quietly. Her fingers started to move again. Another text was sent, this time informing an agent of his new ID.
“Sherlock! Will you be attending the party next Friday?” Mycroft called out, sauntering over as if he owned the world. He didn’t, but he believed he did. ‘Gretchen’ smiled at him and continued texting. Someone was fired and another was hired in the span of a minute. A large sum of money was directed to a fund to purchase more supplies for a school.
“No.” Sherlock said, gritting his teeth. He could tell Mycroft, but Mycroft was happy. He scowled at his older brother, wishing that he was still sane and still the same person who taught him how to make paper airplanes.
“Such a pity, I can guarantee it won’t be boring.” Mycroft said airily. Sherlock turned away, heart clenching fiercely.
Mycroft was happy.
That was enough.
Wasn’t it?