i've always run after the beat of your heart (Sherlock, Mycroft/Sherlock)
i've always run after the beat of your heart
Sherlock; Mycroft/Sherlock
Teen; 4093 words
The real psychopath in the family is Mycroft.
Please refer to Athena Walker's many answers on Quora to see what a pro-social psychopath is like. I've done a short summary below, but her answers go into it in much more detail, so if you find anything about Mycroft's characterization confusing, I'd suggest looking at what she says.
tl;dr version: Psychopaths are unable to feel affective empathy and can't bond with anyone or feel love. They don't feel things like fear or depression and experience shallow, fleeting emotions. They tend to be impulsive and live only for the moment. They get bored easily. They put themselves first and generally choose to invest in people if they want to keep them in their lives. The pro-social ones wear a mask to get by undetected in life.
If anyone on the psychopathy spectrum is reading, I welcome your input on Mycroft's characterization. Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what I've done right or wrong, in your opinion/experience :)
Many thanks to Jay and theRhuhenian for looking this fic over!
Sherlock allows himself to sift through what had happened at Sherrinford only when his parents have left him alone in his room in the family cottage.
Mycroft had been certain that Sherlock wouldn't shoot him, or he wouldn't have volunteered himself. That's simply cold, hard fact. Mycroft had taken his mask fully off just that once, twelve years ago, but Sherlock can still remember every single word of the ensuing conversation with perfect clarity. He'd dived into medical texts afterward, needing to understand who his big brother really is, and had come to the conclusion that Mycroft has intertwined his true self into his mask in such a way that no-one else can separate the two completely.
Sherlock's learnt how to differentiate between them in the years since, but there are times still when it's beyond his grasp.
'I've always despised you' is a lie, of course. His brother isn't capable of feeling anything of the sort. But Sherlock has trouble separating much of the rest. He'd been stripped bare by Mycroft's words, and he still can't identify whether Mycroft had said any of them as himself, with the intention to hurt.
And isn't that the beauty of it? Leave it to Mycroft to craft a persona that allows him opportunities to be who he really is without raising suspicion.
At the time, it had cut Sherlock deeply enough that he had found it surprisingly easy to point the gun at his brother, even as he had known that he would kill himself before Mycroft. Sherlock cannot imagine living in a world without his brother, nor has he any desire to. But he had needed to buy time anyway, and then Mycroft, with his mask firmly on again, had given him the information necessary to deduce how to proceed without anyone's death.
His brother must have figured out what Eurus had really been after. Mycroft might not have been able to deduce what her plans actually were, but unencumbered by sentiment, he'd been able to see what she wanted. Sherlock had chosen his brother to kill the governor precisely because of his inability to feel empathy, and it had been for this very same reason that Mycroft had refused to drop his mask.
Sherlock should have expected it. Even if Mycroft's investment in him hasn't purely been to maintain his mask (and Sherlock's not always sure about that), John's only value to Mycroft lies in his ability to keep watch over Sherlock. A guilty conscience wouldn't have interfered with his usefulness to Mycroft, and so Mycroft hadn't felt the need to break character.
And going over Mycroft's words to him again when Eurus had told him to choose whom to kill, Sherlock realizes that his brother hadn't just been certain that Sherlock wouldn't shoot him. He had also deduced, at some point, why Sherlock wouldn't.
'There's no questioning who has to continue from here. It's us, you and me.'
At the time, Sherlock could scarcely believe he had heard that until his brother had continued on and made it about their intelligence. But Mycroft's rarely careless with his words, and he wouldn't have expressed it like that if he'd really meant to speak solely about brainpower.
Sherlock had asked Lestrade to make sure his brother's looked after, even though Mycroft needs nothing of the sort, as a gesture of apology. Despite what he had decided when Mycroft had brought him back from Serbia, he'd acted poorly toward his brother again, and not for the first time. It had been too easy to fall back into long established patterns of behaviour when it had seemed like Mycroft had kept something important from the stupid little brother once more.
But after the emotional upheaval of Eurus's games, Sherlock wants more than ever. Half a lifetime might have already passed for the both of them, and what's left doesn't feel like enough. Now that he's certain Mycroft already knows, Sherlock thinks that he might as well go for broke. He's got nothing to lose and everything to gain.
*
Leaving everything behind is what puts it into stark, irrefutable relief.
Mycroft is his cornerstone, the one constant that has always been in Sherlock's life. Even the knowledge that Mycroft doesn't miss him at all is unable to make a dent in that.
Sherlock misses his brother terribly. It's easy to push him away when he is in London, where there are cases and John to distract him and where Mycroft is in the backdrop of the very air that he breathes, a presence that he can beckon to his side at any time. Mycroft is undoubtedly still keeping tabs on him, and Sherlock's certain that he's being funded with public money, but the inability to see his brother in the flesh is new. Even during Mycroft's time at Oxford, Sherlock could still reach him easily by train, and he had taken advantage of it.
Now, Sherlock has only his mind palace, where Mycroft at eighteen, at thirty, at every age Sherlock can remember are all perfectly preserved and where his brother has always been the one to give him that final nudge when an answer eludes him. Without corporal reminders of his brother, Mycroft's prominent presence in Sherlock's mind is finally acknowledged for what it really is.
He is at the centre of everything that Sherlock is. The way Sherlock's pushed against Mycroft since that day nearly eight years ago, done things to spite or annoy him or to prove himself to be more than the stupid little brother, only confirms it. Even with his brother kept at arm's length, Sherlock can't help being drawn back in time and time again.
How can he, when he's always been able to turn to Mycroft? When even now, he can be assured that his brother is watching over him?
Mycroft is the one person in his life who's always understood him and never bored him. How can Sherlock not love his brother? It's why he had found it easier to push Mycroft away than to have the truth about his brother a constant taunt before his eyes.
And yet, even though Mycroft is incapable of feeling love, it still feels like love to Sherlock. It's always felt like love, and that's precisely why Mycroft's words that day had wounded him so.
All of that feels inconsequential now. Sherlock had spent months planning what to do about Moriarty and his network with Mycroft, and to be completely deprived of any physical contact with his brother after that... Sherlock won't take Mycroft's tangibility for granted again.
*
'What are you still doing here?' Sherlock asks. 'Shouldn't you be off getting me a pardon or something, like a proper big brother?'
Later, when his mind is completely his again, Sherlock goes over the Mycroft that he'd conjured up whilst high. It's a version of his brother who lets his impulses run free, or, at least, how Sherlock imagines he might be, appetite unfettered and tongue acerbic.
For all that, Sherlock doesn't want to be with him any less. Even corpulent and caustic, Mycroft had still been the same dependable big brother who's always been in Sherlock's life, and Sherlock thinks that he might even prefer him that way.
It's better than the brother who says he cares only when there are witnesses.
'I was there for you before. I'll be there for you again. I'll always be there for you,' Mycroft had said for the benefit of John and Mary, and then he had played the part of the self-recriminating big brother, only Mycroft had known exactly what he was doing when he'd let Sherlock be put in jail for a week. He had warned Sherlock more than once to stay away from Magnussen, and Sherlock had killed him in the end anyway, knowing that Mycroft would punish him for it.
Sherlock's only got himself to blame. He hadn't realized until it was too late that he should have consulted Mycroft first, and killing Magnussen had become the only way to ensure that he wouldn't be used to blackmail his brother.
When Sherlock had enacted his plan to 'trade' Mycroft for Mary's secrets, he'd thought that he would be helping his brother as well, but Mycroft would have known that Magnussen stored all of his information in his mind. If he'd just gone to Mycroft with the situation, then they could have found a way to neutralize Magnussen together like they had Moriarty and his network. Magnussen might have been an asset for the security services, but Sherlock knows his brother. He is a much more valuable asset to Mycroft himself, and Mycroft always puts himself first.
Sherlock had run in on his own, though, and made a mess for his brother, and because Mycroft isn't capable of bonding with anyone, he had left Sherlock in jail as punishment for destroying an asset and putting another one in an unnecessarily thorny situation.
So in response to Mycroft's claim of responsibility, Sherlock had said, 'It was nothing to do with you,' knowing that only Mycroft would understand what he truly means. He doesn't fault Mycroft for what's happened after he killed Magnussen, and he accepts how his brother is and everything that's resulted from that.
It's the only apology for the fiasco that Sherlock knows how to give. But when Mycroft had asked 'Promise me?', Sherlock had known that he couldn't, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Mycroft wasn't asking him as a worried big brother. After a week in jail and then facing an indeterminate duration separated from his brother, Sherlock could only turn to drugs. He hadn't wanted to experience the consuming feeling of missing Mycroft again until he'd had no other choice.
Sherlock would probably never be able to make that promise, not with Mycroft always just out of his reach. Mycroft can never be a proper big brother in the way that Sherlock wants, and they both know it. And so Sherlock had made his jab, knowing that it would only ever hurt him.
*
'And here you are, the dominatrix who's brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played,' Mycroft says, and Sherlock interjects with a 'no'.
He likes the Woman enough not to sentence her to death at Mycroft's hands. Sherlock knows his brother, so he knows that even if she were to walk away tonight with what she wants, Mycroft would neutralize her before she's gone far. The security services care about innocent civilian lives only when it isn't inconvenient for them to do so.
Beyond that, Sherlock refuses to assume the role of his brother's biggest security leak. He's already intimately familiar with the taste of Mycroft's disappointment, and Sherlock won't be put there again by someone else's machinations. If it's going to happen, then he'll be the one doing it of his own volition.
The realization comes to him with a final nudge from Mycroft in his mind palace, and though Sherlock isn't cruel by nature, he chooses to break the Woman's heart. After the way she's played him like a puppet on strings, it seems only fair, and once he starts, every blow that he lands with his words merely spurs him on further.
It feels incandescent to be the one in power, every barb calculated to tear someone's heart apart, and Sherlock suddenly understands why his brother engages in it as often as he does. When he sees the Woman cry after he's successfully unlocked her phone, all he can feel is satisfaction.
'There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.'
Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, Sherlock had said, and isn't that how Mycroft is where he is? It's something with which he hasn't had and never will have to deal. But Sherlock isn't his brother. Even if he hasn't any inclination toward the sort of sentiment that's led the Woman to her downfall, he still can't help but get attached, even though he knows that love is a dangerous disadvantage.
Sherlock makes the Woman beg for her life, and in response, he only tells her heartlessly, 'Sorry about dinner.' He enjoys the entire thing far more than he should, and yet, how can he not when such a reversal has occurred? The woman who beat him has turned into the dominatrix who begged him, and by unlocking her phone, Sherlock's neatly tied the beginning to the end for Mycroft.
He likes the Woman well enough, but their little dance is nothing compared to the narrative between him and his brother, the two of them circling around each other for nearly his entire life.
The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption.
Indeed.
*
Mycroft comes to fetch him out of Serbia personally, and Sherlock isn't sure if he'd underestimated his value to his brother or has increased it through his dismantling of Moriarty's network. It hardly matters. Sherlock recognizes the action for what it is, and he intends to keep proving that he is worthy of it. Even if he can never occupy the same space in Mycroft's life as Mycroft does in his, Sherlock still wants to cement whatever place he can.
He can scarcely take his eyes off of his brother in the jet back to London. It's been two years, and he catalogues the changes in Mycroft: face sharper, body slimmer, hairline receding that bit more. Sherlock feels like he can never get enough of his brother's corporeality, and he wishes that he could wrap himself in Mycroft so that his brother's physical presence covers him in the same way that he permeates Sherlock's mind.
Instead, they sit together in their own little space, curtained off from everyone else, and keep their voices low as they talk. Sherlock basks in being the undeniable centre of Mycroft's attention, and it's enough to keep him from slipping and reaching for more, even though he wants so very much.
They do an official debriefing in Mycroft's office for the benefit of the security services and any politicians who might one day get ideas above their station. Sherlock enjoys the chance to be prickly; he doesn't want anyone in the security services to think that someone besides his brother can handle him and, even then, only just.
Mycroft comes over to Baker Street a few days later, ever in the role of the responsible big brother, and even though Sherlock knows that it's a calculated act, he isn't any less pleased when Mycroft agrees to play Operation with him.
'Can't handle a broken heart. How very telling,' Sherlock says just to be annoying when Mycroft doesn't manage to remove the broken heart. He knows very well that his brother will never experience one, but Sherlock's decision to prove to Mycroft that he is worth his brother's investment in him doesn't mean that friendly banter is off the table.
He knows that Mycroft would find him boring if he were tame.
Mycroft's in a good mood, so when Sherlock sees the opportunity to dig into his brother's personal life, he takes it. 'And you don't...ever?' he asks when Mycroft mentions how he's got friends now.
'If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish,' Mycroft says. Sherlock's always suspected as much-without the ability to bond, there's nothing to keep Mycroft personally interested. Even he can offer only so much to his brother.
Sherlock replies, 'Yes, but I've been away for two years.' From adolescence onward, he's been the closest thing to a companion that Mycroft's got, but a lot can happen in two years.
'So?' Mycroft asks, which sounds promising.
"Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a... goldfish,' Sherlock says. Mycroft's certainly found goldfish useful enough for sexual satisfaction before, and he's more than capable of maintaining the facade of a long-term relationship when he finds it necessary. Sherlock would know.
'Change the subject, now,' Mycroft says, voice laced with distaste, and that's all the answer that Sherlock needs. He remains the only person who might hold some sort of personal worth to Mycroft, and Sherlock won't give that up under any circumstance.
*
Sherlock messages his brother the next afternoon, when he's on his way back to London from the family cottage. I need to speak to you. Are you free tonight?
Mycroft answers in the affirmative and asks where and when, and Sherlock replies with At your house. Whenever.
He heads straight to Mycroft's house in the Boltons once he's back in London and lets himself in with his key. Even when he had set up that little scene two nights ago, Sherlock had used his key and made sure to keep the security on, despite what he had told Mycroft. He would never expose his brother like that, not even when they are at odds with one another.
Sherlock snoops through Mycroft's house whilst waiting for him, as is his habit. The paintings damaged by his little stunt are still hanging on the wall, although that's hardly surprising, especially given how little time has passed. He'd done Mycroft a favour, really, since his brother's never liked them. He just hadn't a reason to take them down, and now Sherlock's finally given him one.
How very considerate of him, and to prove just how serious he is with his intentions, Sherlock thinks over which paintings should replace them. He knows Mycroft's tastes well, and whilst it's hardly as if Mycroft can't do it himself, Sherlock knows that his brother finds little interest in mundane tasks like these.
When Mycroft finds him, Sherlock is in his brother's study and just finishing up his re-arrangement of Mycroft's paintings on a piece of paper. 'What have we here?' Mycroft asks when he's standing before his desk, and Sherlock turns the paper around.
'I've re-decorated your hallway for you,' Sherlock says.
'How charitable of you,' Mycroft says and takes a glance. He looks back up a moment later. 'To what do I owe this generosity?'
'I want to talk,' Sherlock says, 'ring off.'
Mycroft looks at him for a moment, then says, 'Very well.' They put their mobiles on the desk, and then Mycroft leads Sherlock to his personal sitting room. Sherlock takes his shoes off and settles into the chaise longue, whilst Mycroft takes one of the armchairs. He then takes his ring off and places it on the side table next to the armchair.
There's something very cold about Mycroft as soon as his ring is off, just like on that day twelve years ago, and Sherlock is reminded of the words that had shattered his heart then.
I don't love you. I've never loved you.
But Sherlock's had more than a decade to come to terms with what that means now. Mycroft hadn't changed after Sherlock had learnt the truth; only Sherlock's perception of him had, and everything since has merely confirmed that his brother performs love better than most people actually do it.
Sherlock cuts straight to the chase. 'Since when have you known how I feel?' he asks.
'I hadn't for certain until the revelation of my true nature not only successfully manipulated you into staying clean but also turned you disagreeable more often than not,' Mycroft says. Sherlock had concluded even then that Mycroft had told him the truth in order to manipulate him, and his first instinct had been to resist and retaliate, but reason had won out in the end. Even if Mycroft can never love him, even though nothing had been real, Sherlock could still not take the very real risk of losing his brother for good.
'But you enjoy my company when I'm agreeable,' Sherlock says.
'It can be enjoyable, yes,' Mycroft says.
'What must I do to become your life partner instead of a sometimes entertaining asset who also happens to be your brother?' Sherlock asks.
Mycroft's amused smile isn't any less cold. 'I've never felt the need or desire for a romantic partner, much less one for life, and I'm already stuck with you, brother dear,' he says. 'Why should I give you even more space in my life?'
Sherlock had expected something like this, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. He'd asked for it, though, and that's not a no from Mycroft.
'I'll stop being unnecessarily disagreeable,' Sherlock says. Mycroft merely raises an eyebrow, and Sherlock continues. 'I won't disrupt your chess games. I'll even be a willing piece if necessary. No more Adlers or Magnussens, either, and I'll not put into motion any plans that might unduly inconvenience you without your approval. Have I missed anything?'
'Yes,' Mycroft says. 'You'll also stay clean.'
'That won't be a problem,' Sherlock says. 'I won't need drugs if you're available.'
'I presume you'll want exclusivity?' Mycroft asks.
'Yes,' Sherlock says.
'And should I want sexual satisfaction?'
'I can be amenable, depending on the specifics,' Sherlock says. There are very few things that he wouldn't do for this, especially after so many years, and letting his brother enjoy his body isn't much of a concession to make.
'How are we to behave publicly if this goes ahead?' Mycroft asks.
'I'll be agreeable for the most part. What's happened with Eurus will provide a believable reason for our reconciliation.'
Mycroft looks at Sherlock for a long moment, expressionless, and Sherlock holds his brother's gaze unflinchingly. 'I'm not disinclined,' Mycroft finally says. 'Having you so agreeable would free up considerable resources, and you're certainly better company than anyone else when you aren't being purposefully difficult.'
'That's a yes, then?' Sherlock asks.
Mycroft gives a careless little shrug with one shoulder, his expression detached as if this didn't concern him. 'I'm willing to give it a try,' he says.
'May I, then?' Sherlock asks. He's wanted this for two decades now.
Mycroft gives Sherlock a long, aloof stare, which Sherlock meets resolutely as well, and then he puts his ring on. When he looks at Sherlock again after that, his face is human once more.
'Yes,' he says.
Sherlock gets up and crosses the short distance to Mycroft's armchair. It's not a comfortable fit, but he manages to settle himself half in the armchair and half across Mycroft's lap, his body curled into his brother, arms wrapped around him, and head against the side of Mycroft's neck. Mycroft's arms come up around him, and there's nowhere Sherlock has ever wanted to be more.
*
'He did his best,' Sherlock says when Mummy berates Mycroft for failing Eurus. He knows that Mycroft isn't capable of being hurt by anything that she is saying and is just annoyed at her attempt at emotional manipulation (although their parents would read his expression as something to do with contrition instead), but Sherlock wants to make it clear that he's on his brother's side. He's always been, no matter how he acts toward Mycroft.
When Mummy turns to Sherlock for a solution, it comes easily. Just as he's always wanted Mycroft's love and attention, so Eurus has always wanted his, and despite everything, Sherlock loves her.
Mycroft and their parents come along with him a few months after he begins his weekly violin session with Eurus. She doesn't do anything more with the three of them than simply look at them, but Mummy and Dad are in good spirits anyway afterward, and so Mycroft is pleased, too.
Sherlock heads back to Baker Street after lunch with his family, and he's busy with cases and Rosie until nearly eight in the evening, but after that, he heads to Mycroft's house. His brother and their parents are playing dummy whist in the parlour when he arrives, and they switch to Oh Hell once he joins them. Mummy wins, as usual, but Mycroft comes a close second, and it's been a long time since the four of them have enjoyed such a pleasant evening together.
Their parents retire afterward, and when Sherlock puts his mobile on the table and heads upstairs, Mycroft follows. Sherlock turns back to his brother once he's taken a few steps into Mycroft's sitting room, and when Mycroft's closed the door behind them, Sherlock asks, 'It's been a good idea, hasn't it?'
Mycroft steps close and cups Sherlock's face with one hand. Sherlock closes his eyes and turns into his brother's touch.
'Yes,' Mycroft says.
21.07.17
Sherlock; Mycroft/Sherlock
Teen; 4093 words
The real psychopath in the family is Mycroft.
Please refer to Athena Walker's many answers on Quora to see what a pro-social psychopath is like. I've done a short summary below, but her answers go into it in much more detail, so if you find anything about Mycroft's characterization confusing, I'd suggest looking at what she says.
tl;dr version: Psychopaths are unable to feel affective empathy and can't bond with anyone or feel love. They don't feel things like fear or depression and experience shallow, fleeting emotions. They tend to be impulsive and live only for the moment. They get bored easily. They put themselves first and generally choose to invest in people if they want to keep them in their lives. The pro-social ones wear a mask to get by undetected in life.
If anyone on the psychopathy spectrum is reading, I welcome your input on Mycroft's characterization. Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what I've done right or wrong, in your opinion/experience :)
Many thanks to Jay and theRhuhenian for looking this fic over!
Sherlock allows himself to sift through what had happened at Sherrinford only when his parents have left him alone in his room in the family cottage.
Mycroft had been certain that Sherlock wouldn't shoot him, or he wouldn't have volunteered himself. That's simply cold, hard fact. Mycroft had taken his mask fully off just that once, twelve years ago, but Sherlock can still remember every single word of the ensuing conversation with perfect clarity. He'd dived into medical texts afterward, needing to understand who his big brother really is, and had come to the conclusion that Mycroft has intertwined his true self into his mask in such a way that no-one else can separate the two completely.
Sherlock's learnt how to differentiate between them in the years since, but there are times still when it's beyond his grasp.
'I've always despised you' is a lie, of course. His brother isn't capable of feeling anything of the sort. But Sherlock has trouble separating much of the rest. He'd been stripped bare by Mycroft's words, and he still can't identify whether Mycroft had said any of them as himself, with the intention to hurt.
And isn't that the beauty of it? Leave it to Mycroft to craft a persona that allows him opportunities to be who he really is without raising suspicion.
At the time, it had cut Sherlock deeply enough that he had found it surprisingly easy to point the gun at his brother, even as he had known that he would kill himself before Mycroft. Sherlock cannot imagine living in a world without his brother, nor has he any desire to. But he had needed to buy time anyway, and then Mycroft, with his mask firmly on again, had given him the information necessary to deduce how to proceed without anyone's death.
His brother must have figured out what Eurus had really been after. Mycroft might not have been able to deduce what her plans actually were, but unencumbered by sentiment, he'd been able to see what she wanted. Sherlock had chosen his brother to kill the governor precisely because of his inability to feel empathy, and it had been for this very same reason that Mycroft had refused to drop his mask.
Sherlock should have expected it. Even if Mycroft's investment in him hasn't purely been to maintain his mask (and Sherlock's not always sure about that), John's only value to Mycroft lies in his ability to keep watch over Sherlock. A guilty conscience wouldn't have interfered with his usefulness to Mycroft, and so Mycroft hadn't felt the need to break character.
And going over Mycroft's words to him again when Eurus had told him to choose whom to kill, Sherlock realizes that his brother hadn't just been certain that Sherlock wouldn't shoot him. He had also deduced, at some point, why Sherlock wouldn't.
'There's no questioning who has to continue from here. It's us, you and me.'
At the time, Sherlock could scarcely believe he had heard that until his brother had continued on and made it about their intelligence. But Mycroft's rarely careless with his words, and he wouldn't have expressed it like that if he'd really meant to speak solely about brainpower.
Sherlock had asked Lestrade to make sure his brother's looked after, even though Mycroft needs nothing of the sort, as a gesture of apology. Despite what he had decided when Mycroft had brought him back from Serbia, he'd acted poorly toward his brother again, and not for the first time. It had been too easy to fall back into long established patterns of behaviour when it had seemed like Mycroft had kept something important from the stupid little brother once more.
But after the emotional upheaval of Eurus's games, Sherlock wants more than ever. Half a lifetime might have already passed for the both of them, and what's left doesn't feel like enough. Now that he's certain Mycroft already knows, Sherlock thinks that he might as well go for broke. He's got nothing to lose and everything to gain.
*
Leaving everything behind is what puts it into stark, irrefutable relief.
Mycroft is his cornerstone, the one constant that has always been in Sherlock's life. Even the knowledge that Mycroft doesn't miss him at all is unable to make a dent in that.
Sherlock misses his brother terribly. It's easy to push him away when he is in London, where there are cases and John to distract him and where Mycroft is in the backdrop of the very air that he breathes, a presence that he can beckon to his side at any time. Mycroft is undoubtedly still keeping tabs on him, and Sherlock's certain that he's being funded with public money, but the inability to see his brother in the flesh is new. Even during Mycroft's time at Oxford, Sherlock could still reach him easily by train, and he had taken advantage of it.
Now, Sherlock has only his mind palace, where Mycroft at eighteen, at thirty, at every age Sherlock can remember are all perfectly preserved and where his brother has always been the one to give him that final nudge when an answer eludes him. Without corporal reminders of his brother, Mycroft's prominent presence in Sherlock's mind is finally acknowledged for what it really is.
He is at the centre of everything that Sherlock is. The way Sherlock's pushed against Mycroft since that day nearly eight years ago, done things to spite or annoy him or to prove himself to be more than the stupid little brother, only confirms it. Even with his brother kept at arm's length, Sherlock can't help being drawn back in time and time again.
How can he, when he's always been able to turn to Mycroft? When even now, he can be assured that his brother is watching over him?
Mycroft is the one person in his life who's always understood him and never bored him. How can Sherlock not love his brother? It's why he had found it easier to push Mycroft away than to have the truth about his brother a constant taunt before his eyes.
And yet, even though Mycroft is incapable of feeling love, it still feels like love to Sherlock. It's always felt like love, and that's precisely why Mycroft's words that day had wounded him so.
All of that feels inconsequential now. Sherlock had spent months planning what to do about Moriarty and his network with Mycroft, and to be completely deprived of any physical contact with his brother after that... Sherlock won't take Mycroft's tangibility for granted again.
*
'What are you still doing here?' Sherlock asks. 'Shouldn't you be off getting me a pardon or something, like a proper big brother?'
Later, when his mind is completely his again, Sherlock goes over the Mycroft that he'd conjured up whilst high. It's a version of his brother who lets his impulses run free, or, at least, how Sherlock imagines he might be, appetite unfettered and tongue acerbic.
For all that, Sherlock doesn't want to be with him any less. Even corpulent and caustic, Mycroft had still been the same dependable big brother who's always been in Sherlock's life, and Sherlock thinks that he might even prefer him that way.
It's better than the brother who says he cares only when there are witnesses.
'I was there for you before. I'll be there for you again. I'll always be there for you,' Mycroft had said for the benefit of John and Mary, and then he had played the part of the self-recriminating big brother, only Mycroft had known exactly what he was doing when he'd let Sherlock be put in jail for a week. He had warned Sherlock more than once to stay away from Magnussen, and Sherlock had killed him in the end anyway, knowing that Mycroft would punish him for it.
Sherlock's only got himself to blame. He hadn't realized until it was too late that he should have consulted Mycroft first, and killing Magnussen had become the only way to ensure that he wouldn't be used to blackmail his brother.
When Sherlock had enacted his plan to 'trade' Mycroft for Mary's secrets, he'd thought that he would be helping his brother as well, but Mycroft would have known that Magnussen stored all of his information in his mind. If he'd just gone to Mycroft with the situation, then they could have found a way to neutralize Magnussen together like they had Moriarty and his network. Magnussen might have been an asset for the security services, but Sherlock knows his brother. He is a much more valuable asset to Mycroft himself, and Mycroft always puts himself first.
Sherlock had run in on his own, though, and made a mess for his brother, and because Mycroft isn't capable of bonding with anyone, he had left Sherlock in jail as punishment for destroying an asset and putting another one in an unnecessarily thorny situation.
So in response to Mycroft's claim of responsibility, Sherlock had said, 'It was nothing to do with you,' knowing that only Mycroft would understand what he truly means. He doesn't fault Mycroft for what's happened after he killed Magnussen, and he accepts how his brother is and everything that's resulted from that.
It's the only apology for the fiasco that Sherlock knows how to give. But when Mycroft had asked 'Promise me?', Sherlock had known that he couldn't, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Mycroft wasn't asking him as a worried big brother. After a week in jail and then facing an indeterminate duration separated from his brother, Sherlock could only turn to drugs. He hadn't wanted to experience the consuming feeling of missing Mycroft again until he'd had no other choice.
Sherlock would probably never be able to make that promise, not with Mycroft always just out of his reach. Mycroft can never be a proper big brother in the way that Sherlock wants, and they both know it. And so Sherlock had made his jab, knowing that it would only ever hurt him.
*
'And here you are, the dominatrix who's brought a nation to its knees. Nicely played,' Mycroft says, and Sherlock interjects with a 'no'.
He likes the Woman enough not to sentence her to death at Mycroft's hands. Sherlock knows his brother, so he knows that even if she were to walk away tonight with what she wants, Mycroft would neutralize her before she's gone far. The security services care about innocent civilian lives only when it isn't inconvenient for them to do so.
Beyond that, Sherlock refuses to assume the role of his brother's biggest security leak. He's already intimately familiar with the taste of Mycroft's disappointment, and Sherlock won't be put there again by someone else's machinations. If it's going to happen, then he'll be the one doing it of his own volition.
The realization comes to him with a final nudge from Mycroft in his mind palace, and though Sherlock isn't cruel by nature, he chooses to break the Woman's heart. After the way she's played him like a puppet on strings, it seems only fair, and once he starts, every blow that he lands with his words merely spurs him on further.
It feels incandescent to be the one in power, every barb calculated to tear someone's heart apart, and Sherlock suddenly understands why his brother engages in it as often as he does. When he sees the Woman cry after he's successfully unlocked her phone, all he can feel is satisfaction.
'There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight.'
Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, Sherlock had said, and isn't that how Mycroft is where he is? It's something with which he hasn't had and never will have to deal. But Sherlock isn't his brother. Even if he hasn't any inclination toward the sort of sentiment that's led the Woman to her downfall, he still can't help but get attached, even though he knows that love is a dangerous disadvantage.
Sherlock makes the Woman beg for her life, and in response, he only tells her heartlessly, 'Sorry about dinner.' He enjoys the entire thing far more than he should, and yet, how can he not when such a reversal has occurred? The woman who beat him has turned into the dominatrix who begged him, and by unlocking her phone, Sherlock's neatly tied the beginning to the end for Mycroft.
He likes the Woman well enough, but their little dance is nothing compared to the narrative between him and his brother, the two of them circling around each other for nearly his entire life.
The promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption.
Indeed.
*
Mycroft comes to fetch him out of Serbia personally, and Sherlock isn't sure if he'd underestimated his value to his brother or has increased it through his dismantling of Moriarty's network. It hardly matters. Sherlock recognizes the action for what it is, and he intends to keep proving that he is worthy of it. Even if he can never occupy the same space in Mycroft's life as Mycroft does in his, Sherlock still wants to cement whatever place he can.
He can scarcely take his eyes off of his brother in the jet back to London. It's been two years, and he catalogues the changes in Mycroft: face sharper, body slimmer, hairline receding that bit more. Sherlock feels like he can never get enough of his brother's corporeality, and he wishes that he could wrap himself in Mycroft so that his brother's physical presence covers him in the same way that he permeates Sherlock's mind.
Instead, they sit together in their own little space, curtained off from everyone else, and keep their voices low as they talk. Sherlock basks in being the undeniable centre of Mycroft's attention, and it's enough to keep him from slipping and reaching for more, even though he wants so very much.
They do an official debriefing in Mycroft's office for the benefit of the security services and any politicians who might one day get ideas above their station. Sherlock enjoys the chance to be prickly; he doesn't want anyone in the security services to think that someone besides his brother can handle him and, even then, only just.
Mycroft comes over to Baker Street a few days later, ever in the role of the responsible big brother, and even though Sherlock knows that it's a calculated act, he isn't any less pleased when Mycroft agrees to play Operation with him.
'Can't handle a broken heart. How very telling,' Sherlock says just to be annoying when Mycroft doesn't manage to remove the broken heart. He knows very well that his brother will never experience one, but Sherlock's decision to prove to Mycroft that he is worth his brother's investment in him doesn't mean that friendly banter is off the table.
He knows that Mycroft would find him boring if he were tame.
Mycroft's in a good mood, so when Sherlock sees the opportunity to dig into his brother's personal life, he takes it. 'And you don't...ever?' he asks when Mycroft mentions how he's got friends now.
'If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I'm living in a world of goldfish,' Mycroft says. Sherlock's always suspected as much-without the ability to bond, there's nothing to keep Mycroft personally interested. Even he can offer only so much to his brother.
Sherlock replies, 'Yes, but I've been away for two years.' From adolescence onward, he's been the closest thing to a companion that Mycroft's got, but a lot can happen in two years.
'So?' Mycroft asks, which sounds promising.
"Oh, I don't know. I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a... goldfish,' Sherlock says. Mycroft's certainly found goldfish useful enough for sexual satisfaction before, and he's more than capable of maintaining the facade of a long-term relationship when he finds it necessary. Sherlock would know.
'Change the subject, now,' Mycroft says, voice laced with distaste, and that's all the answer that Sherlock needs. He remains the only person who might hold some sort of personal worth to Mycroft, and Sherlock won't give that up under any circumstance.
*
Sherlock messages his brother the next afternoon, when he's on his way back to London from the family cottage. I need to speak to you. Are you free tonight?
Mycroft answers in the affirmative and asks where and when, and Sherlock replies with At your house. Whenever.
He heads straight to Mycroft's house in the Boltons once he's back in London and lets himself in with his key. Even when he had set up that little scene two nights ago, Sherlock had used his key and made sure to keep the security on, despite what he had told Mycroft. He would never expose his brother like that, not even when they are at odds with one another.
Sherlock snoops through Mycroft's house whilst waiting for him, as is his habit. The paintings damaged by his little stunt are still hanging on the wall, although that's hardly surprising, especially given how little time has passed. He'd done Mycroft a favour, really, since his brother's never liked them. He just hadn't a reason to take them down, and now Sherlock's finally given him one.
How very considerate of him, and to prove just how serious he is with his intentions, Sherlock thinks over which paintings should replace them. He knows Mycroft's tastes well, and whilst it's hardly as if Mycroft can't do it himself, Sherlock knows that his brother finds little interest in mundane tasks like these.
When Mycroft finds him, Sherlock is in his brother's study and just finishing up his re-arrangement of Mycroft's paintings on a piece of paper. 'What have we here?' Mycroft asks when he's standing before his desk, and Sherlock turns the paper around.
'I've re-decorated your hallway for you,' Sherlock says.
'How charitable of you,' Mycroft says and takes a glance. He looks back up a moment later. 'To what do I owe this generosity?'
'I want to talk,' Sherlock says, 'ring off.'
Mycroft looks at him for a moment, then says, 'Very well.' They put their mobiles on the desk, and then Mycroft leads Sherlock to his personal sitting room. Sherlock takes his shoes off and settles into the chaise longue, whilst Mycroft takes one of the armchairs. He then takes his ring off and places it on the side table next to the armchair.
There's something very cold about Mycroft as soon as his ring is off, just like on that day twelve years ago, and Sherlock is reminded of the words that had shattered his heart then.
I don't love you. I've never loved you.
But Sherlock's had more than a decade to come to terms with what that means now. Mycroft hadn't changed after Sherlock had learnt the truth; only Sherlock's perception of him had, and everything since has merely confirmed that his brother performs love better than most people actually do it.
Sherlock cuts straight to the chase. 'Since when have you known how I feel?' he asks.
'I hadn't for certain until the revelation of my true nature not only successfully manipulated you into staying clean but also turned you disagreeable more often than not,' Mycroft says. Sherlock had concluded even then that Mycroft had told him the truth in order to manipulate him, and his first instinct had been to resist and retaliate, but reason had won out in the end. Even if Mycroft can never love him, even though nothing had been real, Sherlock could still not take the very real risk of losing his brother for good.
'But you enjoy my company when I'm agreeable,' Sherlock says.
'It can be enjoyable, yes,' Mycroft says.
'What must I do to become your life partner instead of a sometimes entertaining asset who also happens to be your brother?' Sherlock asks.
Mycroft's amused smile isn't any less cold. 'I've never felt the need or desire for a romantic partner, much less one for life, and I'm already stuck with you, brother dear,' he says. 'Why should I give you even more space in my life?'
Sherlock had expected something like this, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. He'd asked for it, though, and that's not a no from Mycroft.
'I'll stop being unnecessarily disagreeable,' Sherlock says. Mycroft merely raises an eyebrow, and Sherlock continues. 'I won't disrupt your chess games. I'll even be a willing piece if necessary. No more Adlers or Magnussens, either, and I'll not put into motion any plans that might unduly inconvenience you without your approval. Have I missed anything?'
'Yes,' Mycroft says. 'You'll also stay clean.'
'That won't be a problem,' Sherlock says. 'I won't need drugs if you're available.'
'I presume you'll want exclusivity?' Mycroft asks.
'Yes,' Sherlock says.
'And should I want sexual satisfaction?'
'I can be amenable, depending on the specifics,' Sherlock says. There are very few things that he wouldn't do for this, especially after so many years, and letting his brother enjoy his body isn't much of a concession to make.
'How are we to behave publicly if this goes ahead?' Mycroft asks.
'I'll be agreeable for the most part. What's happened with Eurus will provide a believable reason for our reconciliation.'
Mycroft looks at Sherlock for a long moment, expressionless, and Sherlock holds his brother's gaze unflinchingly. 'I'm not disinclined,' Mycroft finally says. 'Having you so agreeable would free up considerable resources, and you're certainly better company than anyone else when you aren't being purposefully difficult.'
'That's a yes, then?' Sherlock asks.
Mycroft gives a careless little shrug with one shoulder, his expression detached as if this didn't concern him. 'I'm willing to give it a try,' he says.
'May I, then?' Sherlock asks. He's wanted this for two decades now.
Mycroft gives Sherlock a long, aloof stare, which Sherlock meets resolutely as well, and then he puts his ring on. When he looks at Sherlock again after that, his face is human once more.
'Yes,' he says.
Sherlock gets up and crosses the short distance to Mycroft's armchair. It's not a comfortable fit, but he manages to settle himself half in the armchair and half across Mycroft's lap, his body curled into his brother, arms wrapped around him, and head against the side of Mycroft's neck. Mycroft's arms come up around him, and there's nowhere Sherlock has ever wanted to be more.
*
'He did his best,' Sherlock says when Mummy berates Mycroft for failing Eurus. He knows that Mycroft isn't capable of being hurt by anything that she is saying and is just annoyed at her attempt at emotional manipulation (although their parents would read his expression as something to do with contrition instead), but Sherlock wants to make it clear that he's on his brother's side. He's always been, no matter how he acts toward Mycroft.
When Mummy turns to Sherlock for a solution, it comes easily. Just as he's always wanted Mycroft's love and attention, so Eurus has always wanted his, and despite everything, Sherlock loves her.
Mycroft and their parents come along with him a few months after he begins his weekly violin session with Eurus. She doesn't do anything more with the three of them than simply look at them, but Mummy and Dad are in good spirits anyway afterward, and so Mycroft is pleased, too.
Sherlock heads back to Baker Street after lunch with his family, and he's busy with cases and Rosie until nearly eight in the evening, but after that, he heads to Mycroft's house. His brother and their parents are playing dummy whist in the parlour when he arrives, and they switch to Oh Hell once he joins them. Mummy wins, as usual, but Mycroft comes a close second, and it's been a long time since the four of them have enjoyed such a pleasant evening together.
Their parents retire afterward, and when Sherlock puts his mobile on the table and heads upstairs, Mycroft follows. Sherlock turns back to his brother once he's taken a few steps into Mycroft's sitting room, and when Mycroft's closed the door behind them, Sherlock asks, 'It's been a good idea, hasn't it?'
Mycroft steps close and cups Sherlock's face with one hand. Sherlock closes his eyes and turns into his brother's touch.
'Yes,' Mycroft says.
21.07.17