Too Late. BBC Sherlock fanfic.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm not making any money, and the recent adaptation belongs to BBC, and the Moff.
Warnings: pre-slash.
Summary: Mycroft confronts Sherlock after the events of 'The Great Game'
A/N: Currently a standalone drabble but I have plans to maybe turn it into a full story. Any ideas/constructive criticism is most appreciated.
Too Late.
“For someone who prides himself on his observational skills Sherlock, sometimes you really are blindingly oblivious.”
“Fuck off Mycroft.”
Mycroft clicked his tongue and swung his umbrella under his arm.
“I do wish you wouldn’t swear so, Sherlock. You know how much it used to distress Mummy.”
Sherlock merely clenched his teeth and carried on walking. He was not up to playing games right now. Not tonight. But as he turned around the corner of the dark alley a hand grabbed his upper arm. Sherlock’s mind pondered for a moment that for a large man Mycroft was surprisingly nimble on his feet.
“I know what you’re planning Sherlock. Don’t do it. It can only end badly”
Sherlock pulled his arm out of Mycroft’s grip “You may have the government convinced you are omniscient Mycroft, but you’re not. You don’t know everything.”
And with that Sherlock hurried back to 221b Baker Street, making sure he didn’t turn around so Mycroft wouldn’t be able to read his face and see how deeply his words had affected his composure. After all, if Sherlock was honest with himself, he knew Mycroft’s warning was true. But, as Sherlock had watched John lying on the cold hospital bed unable to so much as breathe by himself without the aid of various machines, Sherlock knew it was the only option. And it had to be tonight, he’d already wasted enough time sneaking into the hospital to check on John. If Sherlock was to catch the trail before it went cold he needed to act swift. And if he had to pretend he had died to do so? Well, without John by his side he might as well be dead anyway. Pity he had realised that fact too late.
TBC