for fennishjournal: "Our Statures are Unbending"
Original Author: fennishjournal
Original Story Title: Our Stature Touch the Skies
Original Story Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/422079
Original Story Pairings: Mycroft/OFC, Mycroft+Sherlock
Original Story Rating: G/PG/General
Original Story Warnings: N/A
Note: Mycroft is a trans man (FtM) in this story
Remix Author: chibifukurou
Remix Story Title: Our Statures are Unbending
Remix Story Pairings: Gen Sherlock & Mycroft centric
Remix Story Rating: PG-13
Remix Story Warnings: transgender prejudices, character death
Remix Story Beta: thesmallhobbit
Remix Story Britpicker: thesmallhobbit
"Our Statures are Unbending"
He comes back home for his mother's funeral. It's been five years since he's moved out. The only times he's talked to her have been when he scheduled a time to see Sherlock.
He arrives just before the service is about to start. It means he misses opportunity to see his mother’s body, but it also means that when he walks through the front door of the church in an impeccably tailored three piece suit all his father can do is frown at him.
He isn't going to postpone the funeral to yell at Mycroft.
That doesn't stop him from glaring at Mycroft until the vicar comes and draws his attention away.
None of the neighbors or family friends mention the suit. He transitioned eight years ago and most people don't remember that the Holmes family once included a daughter named Bellamy.
If any of the extended family were still living they might have noticed, but not even the vicar bats an eye when he asks if either of Mrs. Holmes' sons would like to say anything.
Father starts glaring at him again. It is truly unnecessary though. Bellamy was Mother's daughter, but she had never accepted Mycroft as her son. Whatever he had to say would be correct and appear heart-felt. He was a well trained politician. The only gift he can give her though is to at least be honest in this.
He will not cheapen this moment with sentiment when he is still numb and unsure how to deal with her death.
He shakes his head infinitesimally at the vicar, and presses a hand down on Sherlock's shoulder when his brother hunches down to avoid the vicar's gaze.
The vicar gives them a sad smile and then continues on with the service. Father relaxes and returns to ignoring Mycroft.
Sherlock remains hunched down, but Mycroft can feel him shaking beneath the weight of his hand. Death may be fascinating to Sherlock but it has never struck so close to home. He may be fifteen years old, and a genius, but Sherlock is still a child. The bond between a mother and son, no matter how strained, is not something that can be easily shaken off.
# # #
The wake goes about as expected. Whenever Father isn't busy with the visitors he is busy glaring at Mycroft or Sherlock. Mycroft stays near the chair where Sherlock has taken up residence. Sherlock has buried himself in a book on embalming and the various ways bodies have been buried and preserved over time.
The teenagers who had been forced to attend the wake glare at Sherlock. Mycroft suspects they would try to tease Sherlock. Their own discomfort with the situation turning them vicious. He is here though, and it should be obvious to even the most foolish of teenage dullards that he will not allow them to drag his brother off somewhere where their parents won't see them acting badly.
They circle like sharks in the water, but none of them come closer than the food table which is positioned a few feet from Sherlock's chair.
The older ladies in attendance, are a total contrast. They come over to give their regrets and check on Sherlock. More than one making a comment about either Sherlock's weight (the common consensus seems to be that he is so skinny a stiff wind could blow him over) or his reading material. The less understanding women remark on grief being a strange thing, their eyes glued to the book's cover which shows one of the old mausoleums that had been carved to appear as though the dead woman was sleeping, her body cast in stone.
The more understanding ladies, smile sadly and talk about how it's good that Sherlock is being so open with his grief. They wish their own sons or grandsons were so wise.
It is a bit of a shock when one of the older women comes straight up to Sherlock and bends down to press a kiss against his curls. The fact that Sherlock doesn't try to pull away is both impressive and telling. She keeps a hand on Sherlock's shoulder when she finally takes the time to introduce herself.
"I'm Eleanor. I run the school library and Sherlock is one of my favorite students."
"You mean I'm the only one that doesn't tell the head that you swear."
Her face splits into a huge grin. After that it is hardly surprising when she pulls up a chair next to Sherlock's and starts elbowing him until he finally pulls his head up enough that Mycroft can see his face. His eyes are a little red, but he's done a good job of covering up any signs that he might have been crying.
"Come on now. You have to let me see the book so I know if the 'politically correct ninnies' who wrote it actually know what they were talking about." She gives Mycroft a wink over the top of the book, before she and Sherlock tuck their heads together and start discussing the benefits and drawbacks of various burial traditions.
Mycroft finally feels confident enough to leave Sherlock's orbit. He starts to mingle. The perfect grieving gentleman, nobody really pays him any attention.
If he walks through the door to the kitchen he'll have to deal with him.
Something he'd much rather avoid. He won't act like a guest in his own house though, and resort to hiding from everyone at the bottom of the garden or in the bathroom. He is proud of the man he has become. One that doesn't let himself be pressured into taking the easy way out.
He is still there, in plain view of anyone coming through the door and able to see Sherlock through the living room's doorway, when he hears his father mention boarding school.
His tone is casual, but Mycroft knows his father.
"I really don't see how I can keep him at home, he's just not normal. At least with Marsha gone I can finally stop all those strange sissy habits of his."
The men he's talking to make agreeable noises. It's impossible to tell if they actually agree or if they're just humoring the man who’s lost his wife and has never had to raise children on his own before.
Either way, Father will consider this approval of his plan. He won't back down based on Mycroft's objections.
Mycroft is smarter than his Father though, and he isn't afraid of being perceived as strange. That will give him the edge he needs to make sure things work out in his and Sherlock's favor.
He pushes off from the wall and heads back into the living room. The older woman is now having an animated discussion with Sherlock, about the most interesting ways to die.
He balances himself on the arm of Sherlock's chair and chimes in with a story he heard about a man who had managed to get sat on by a hippopotamus.
# # #
His father takes one more day off of work and then it is just Mycroft and Sherlock in the house. Mycroft takes full advantage.
He was living in student accommodation, but that had to change. He can't take Sherlock back with him, if he doesn't have somewhere for them to live.
He is well known in the more gay friendly parts of London. Which serves him well when it comes to looking for somewhere to live suitable to live.
With a few well placed words about his father's attempts to toughen Sherlock up and stop him from being a 'sissy' people are more than willing to offer up their couches and spare rooms up.
Mycroft's gift has always been his persuasiveness.
He doesn't know if Sherlock truly will end up like him. Sherlock seems to view gender more as a weapon than anything having to do with him and Mycroft hasn't seen him show interest in either girls or boys.
In the long run, it's not as though it really matters. Even if Sherlock grows up to be a straight man, Mycroft doesn't want him to be left here to languish under their father's 'tender' mercies.
On the fourth day after they bury Mother, Mycroft keeps Sherlock home from school.
He doesn't explain why, to either Sherlock or Father.
Despite this, Sherlock is waiting in the living-room for him after he sees Father off. He has two suitcases packed and sitting next to him. With his prize microscope balanced on top.
He always has known Mycroft better than anyone.
"So where are we going?" he asks, without bothering to look up from his book. This time it's one about exotic poisons from the rainforest.
"Is that another loan from your friend Missy?"
"She's not my friend."
"She discussed ancient disposition with you for over an hour. She obviously has some attachment to you."
Sherlock hunches further down over his book.
Mycroft sighs. One of these days Sherlock is going to have to come to grips with the fact that he does need people. Today isn't the day to push it though. Not with Mother newly buried and Mycroft about to change his entire life around.
"We're going to be leaving for London."
"I assume your search for a new domicile was successful then?"
"Very." He picks up Sherlock's suitcases, but leaves his microscope. Sherlock will be upset if he feels that Mycroft has damaged it in some manner.
"Well?"
"If you have a question, then I suggest you ask it." Mycroft can just make out Sherlock's pout. He wasn't their parents though. He knew how to handle Sherlock's more precocious moods.
Once he has Sherlock's and his own bags packed into the car, he goes into the kitchen and leaves a note taped to the refrigerator. It explains that Mycroft has felt that his Father shouldn't have to deal with Sherlock during this difficult time. It carefully does not mention where they will be living.
Father could call the police on him, but Mycroft knew him well enough to know that he won't bother.
Out of sight, out of mind has always been their parent's guiding principle.
He doesn't bother to tell Sherlock he is leaving.
He'll catch up.
It only takes him ten minutes of sitting in the car, before Sherlock catches up. He jerks the door open hard enough to make the car wobble, and then wobble again, when he slams the door closed behind him.
"Are you done with your little temper tantrum?"
"I'm not having a temper tantrum."
Mycroft doesn't take his eyes off of his own book. It would be hard to keep a straight face if he did and it is best not to reward bad behavior with attention. "Put you seat-belt on."
He reads three more pages before he hears the click of the seatbelt.
"Thank you Sherlock." Tucking his book into the driver side door's pocket, he starts the car.
They are a quarter of the way to London before Sherlock finally breaks and asks his question. "So where are we going to be living?"
"It's a little guest house. I think you'll like the owner, Mummy. I hear she has an exquisite library."
"I'm not a child. It takes more than just a few books to pacify me."
Mycroft smirks. "Her day job is as a funeral home beautician. I'm sure that if you behave, she will consider taking you with her to work sometimes."
Sherlock still isn't very good at covering his excitement. His fingers begin to tap against the window glass and his eyes never land on a page of his book for more than a few seconds.
It is the most animated Mycroft has seen his since Mother's passing.
He wishes it were under other circumstances. He would have preferred a more peaceful passion for his brother, but he knows better than anyone how there are some things that are deeper in one’s mind than plans or wishes. Callings that cannot be ignored.
Sherlock had supported his metamorphosis from Bellamy to Mycroft without question or doubt. Now it is Mycroft's turn to support Sherlock.
Confident that Sherlock is thoroughly distracted, Mycroft turns the majority of his attention back to the road, pressing down harder on the accelerator to eke a little more speed out of the vehicle.
It will be a relief, when he is back in London, where Mycroft is the only part of him that has ever existed. He needs that stability, now more than ever.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Remember to leave feedback for both authors!
Original Story Title: Our Stature Touch the Skies
Original Story Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/422079
Original Story Pairings: Mycroft/OFC, Mycroft+Sherlock
Original Story Rating: G/PG/General
Original Story Warnings: N/A
Note: Mycroft is a trans man (FtM) in this story
Remix Author: chibifukurou
Remix Story Title: Our Statures are Unbending
Remix Story Pairings: Gen Sherlock & Mycroft centric
Remix Story Rating: PG-13
Remix Story Warnings: transgender prejudices, character death
Remix Story Beta: thesmallhobbit
Remix Story Britpicker: thesmallhobbit
"Our Statures are Unbending"
He comes back home for his mother's funeral. It's been five years since he's moved out. The only times he's talked to her have been when he scheduled a time to see Sherlock.
He arrives just before the service is about to start. It means he misses opportunity to see his mother’s body, but it also means that when he walks through the front door of the church in an impeccably tailored three piece suit all his father can do is frown at him.
He isn't going to postpone the funeral to yell at Mycroft.
That doesn't stop him from glaring at Mycroft until the vicar comes and draws his attention away.
None of the neighbors or family friends mention the suit. He transitioned eight years ago and most people don't remember that the Holmes family once included a daughter named Bellamy.
If any of the extended family were still living they might have noticed, but not even the vicar bats an eye when he asks if either of Mrs. Holmes' sons would like to say anything.
Father starts glaring at him again. It is truly unnecessary though. Bellamy was Mother's daughter, but she had never accepted Mycroft as her son. Whatever he had to say would be correct and appear heart-felt. He was a well trained politician. The only gift he can give her though is to at least be honest in this.
He will not cheapen this moment with sentiment when he is still numb and unsure how to deal with her death.
He shakes his head infinitesimally at the vicar, and presses a hand down on Sherlock's shoulder when his brother hunches down to avoid the vicar's gaze.
The vicar gives them a sad smile and then continues on with the service. Father relaxes and returns to ignoring Mycroft.
Sherlock remains hunched down, but Mycroft can feel him shaking beneath the weight of his hand. Death may be fascinating to Sherlock but it has never struck so close to home. He may be fifteen years old, and a genius, but Sherlock is still a child. The bond between a mother and son, no matter how strained, is not something that can be easily shaken off.
# # #
The wake goes about as expected. Whenever Father isn't busy with the visitors he is busy glaring at Mycroft or Sherlock. Mycroft stays near the chair where Sherlock has taken up residence. Sherlock has buried himself in a book on embalming and the various ways bodies have been buried and preserved over time.
The teenagers who had been forced to attend the wake glare at Sherlock. Mycroft suspects they would try to tease Sherlock. Their own discomfort with the situation turning them vicious. He is here though, and it should be obvious to even the most foolish of teenage dullards that he will not allow them to drag his brother off somewhere where their parents won't see them acting badly.
They circle like sharks in the water, but none of them come closer than the food table which is positioned a few feet from Sherlock's chair.
The older ladies in attendance, are a total contrast. They come over to give their regrets and check on Sherlock. More than one making a comment about either Sherlock's weight (the common consensus seems to be that he is so skinny a stiff wind could blow him over) or his reading material. The less understanding women remark on grief being a strange thing, their eyes glued to the book's cover which shows one of the old mausoleums that had been carved to appear as though the dead woman was sleeping, her body cast in stone.
The more understanding ladies, smile sadly and talk about how it's good that Sherlock is being so open with his grief. They wish their own sons or grandsons were so wise.
It is a bit of a shock when one of the older women comes straight up to Sherlock and bends down to press a kiss against his curls. The fact that Sherlock doesn't try to pull away is both impressive and telling. She keeps a hand on Sherlock's shoulder when she finally takes the time to introduce herself.
"I'm Eleanor. I run the school library and Sherlock is one of my favorite students."
"You mean I'm the only one that doesn't tell the head that you swear."
Her face splits into a huge grin. After that it is hardly surprising when she pulls up a chair next to Sherlock's and starts elbowing him until he finally pulls his head up enough that Mycroft can see his face. His eyes are a little red, but he's done a good job of covering up any signs that he might have been crying.
"Come on now. You have to let me see the book so I know if the 'politically correct ninnies' who wrote it actually know what they were talking about." She gives Mycroft a wink over the top of the book, before she and Sherlock tuck their heads together and start discussing the benefits and drawbacks of various burial traditions.
Mycroft finally feels confident enough to leave Sherlock's orbit. He starts to mingle. The perfect grieving gentleman, nobody really pays him any attention.
If he walks through the door to the kitchen he'll have to deal with him.
Something he'd much rather avoid. He won't act like a guest in his own house though, and resort to hiding from everyone at the bottom of the garden or in the bathroom. He is proud of the man he has become. One that doesn't let himself be pressured into taking the easy way out.
He is still there, in plain view of anyone coming through the door and able to see Sherlock through the living room's doorway, when he hears his father mention boarding school.
His tone is casual, but Mycroft knows his father.
"I really don't see how I can keep him at home, he's just not normal. At least with Marsha gone I can finally stop all those strange sissy habits of his."
The men he's talking to make agreeable noises. It's impossible to tell if they actually agree or if they're just humoring the man who’s lost his wife and has never had to raise children on his own before.
Either way, Father will consider this approval of his plan. He won't back down based on Mycroft's objections.
Mycroft is smarter than his Father though, and he isn't afraid of being perceived as strange. That will give him the edge he needs to make sure things work out in his and Sherlock's favor.
He pushes off from the wall and heads back into the living room. The older woman is now having an animated discussion with Sherlock, about the most interesting ways to die.
He balances himself on the arm of Sherlock's chair and chimes in with a story he heard about a man who had managed to get sat on by a hippopotamus.
# # #
His father takes one more day off of work and then it is just Mycroft and Sherlock in the house. Mycroft takes full advantage.
He was living in student accommodation, but that had to change. He can't take Sherlock back with him, if he doesn't have somewhere for them to live.
He is well known in the more gay friendly parts of London. Which serves him well when it comes to looking for somewhere to live suitable to live.
With a few well placed words about his father's attempts to toughen Sherlock up and stop him from being a 'sissy' people are more than willing to offer up their couches and spare rooms up.
Mycroft's gift has always been his persuasiveness.
He doesn't know if Sherlock truly will end up like him. Sherlock seems to view gender more as a weapon than anything having to do with him and Mycroft hasn't seen him show interest in either girls or boys.
In the long run, it's not as though it really matters. Even if Sherlock grows up to be a straight man, Mycroft doesn't want him to be left here to languish under their father's 'tender' mercies.
On the fourth day after they bury Mother, Mycroft keeps Sherlock home from school.
He doesn't explain why, to either Sherlock or Father.
Despite this, Sherlock is waiting in the living-room for him after he sees Father off. He has two suitcases packed and sitting next to him. With his prize microscope balanced on top.
He always has known Mycroft better than anyone.
"So where are we going?" he asks, without bothering to look up from his book. This time it's one about exotic poisons from the rainforest.
"Is that another loan from your friend Missy?"
"She's not my friend."
"She discussed ancient disposition with you for over an hour. She obviously has some attachment to you."
Sherlock hunches further down over his book.
Mycroft sighs. One of these days Sherlock is going to have to come to grips with the fact that he does need people. Today isn't the day to push it though. Not with Mother newly buried and Mycroft about to change his entire life around.
"We're going to be leaving for London."
"I assume your search for a new domicile was successful then?"
"Very." He picks up Sherlock's suitcases, but leaves his microscope. Sherlock will be upset if he feels that Mycroft has damaged it in some manner.
"Well?"
"If you have a question, then I suggest you ask it." Mycroft can just make out Sherlock's pout. He wasn't their parents though. He knew how to handle Sherlock's more precocious moods.
Once he has Sherlock's and his own bags packed into the car, he goes into the kitchen and leaves a note taped to the refrigerator. It explains that Mycroft has felt that his Father shouldn't have to deal with Sherlock during this difficult time. It carefully does not mention where they will be living.
Father could call the police on him, but Mycroft knew him well enough to know that he won't bother.
Out of sight, out of mind has always been their parent's guiding principle.
He doesn't bother to tell Sherlock he is leaving.
He'll catch up.
It only takes him ten minutes of sitting in the car, before Sherlock catches up. He jerks the door open hard enough to make the car wobble, and then wobble again, when he slams the door closed behind him.
"Are you done with your little temper tantrum?"
"I'm not having a temper tantrum."
Mycroft doesn't take his eyes off of his own book. It would be hard to keep a straight face if he did and it is best not to reward bad behavior with attention. "Put you seat-belt on."
He reads three more pages before he hears the click of the seatbelt.
"Thank you Sherlock." Tucking his book into the driver side door's pocket, he starts the car.
They are a quarter of the way to London before Sherlock finally breaks and asks his question. "So where are we going to be living?"
"It's a little guest house. I think you'll like the owner, Mummy. I hear she has an exquisite library."
"I'm not a child. It takes more than just a few books to pacify me."
Mycroft smirks. "Her day job is as a funeral home beautician. I'm sure that if you behave, she will consider taking you with her to work sometimes."
Sherlock still isn't very good at covering his excitement. His fingers begin to tap against the window glass and his eyes never land on a page of his book for more than a few seconds.
It is the most animated Mycroft has seen his since Mother's passing.
He wishes it were under other circumstances. He would have preferred a more peaceful passion for his brother, but he knows better than anyone how there are some things that are deeper in one’s mind than plans or wishes. Callings that cannot be ignored.
Sherlock had supported his metamorphosis from Bellamy to Mycroft without question or doubt. Now it is Mycroft's turn to support Sherlock.
Confident that Sherlock is thoroughly distracted, Mycroft turns the majority of his attention back to the road, pressing down harder on the accelerator to eke a little more speed out of the vehicle.
It will be a relief, when he is back in London, where Mycroft is the only part of him that has ever existed. He needs that stability, now more than ever.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Remember to leave feedback for both authors!