Prompting Part XXVI
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IMPORTANT! Spoilers for aired episodes are now being allowed on this area of the meme, without warning. If you do not want to encounter spoilers, please prompt at our Spoiler-Free Prompt Post.
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IMPORTANT! Spoilers for aired episodes are now being allowed on this area of the meme, without warning. If you do not want to encounter spoilers, please prompt at our Spoiler-Free Prompt Post.
( Read more... )
“Violet? Mycroft is here to see you.”
Mycroft smiled as the nurse announced his presence. He held out the checkers’ board.
“Oh. Lovely.” Violet Holmes smiled at her son. “Checkers, how fun! How are you?” she questioned as they carefully walked to a table.
Mycroft made sure to hold out his arm to his mother to give her some guidance. “Oh, I’m fine.”
“Keeping busy, I hope?”
“Of course.” Mycroft helped her sit down, even thought she didn’t need it. Her eighty-one years had done nothing to hinder her strength. They’d only destroyed her mind. “How have you been?” Mycroft asked even though he knew the answer.
“Oh, you know. Doing a little painting, some card games. Oh, and some of us were taken to the museum to see the paintings! I saw the beautiful picture with the…sunflowers. You know the one?” She asked, beaming.
Mycroft smiled and nodded. “Yes, I do know which one you are talking about.” He couldn’t tell his mother that that had been a few months ago and she had told him every time he’d come to visit since, always talking about how she had just gone. “I believe it was Vincent van Gogh who painted them.”
“That’s right!” Violet set up the board. “Red or black?”
“I think I will be black today,” Mycroft said as he grabbed a handful of black chips.
Violet smiled and clapped. “Wonderful! I prefer to be red.”
Yes, I know, Mycroft thought as he watched her set up her side of the board.
It had been three years since his mother had fallen ill. It had just been a routine visit to her GP but he had noticed her struggles at trying to remember bits of the stories she was trying to tell him. He suggested a few tests, just as a precaution, but he felt it was necessary since, in all the time he had known Violet she had never struggled like that. It had always been said that Violet’s mind was like a database-she could recall the smallest on information.
A few tests later it was confirmed that she had the beginnings of Dementia. There was nothing Mycroft had been able to do except watch over her. Although, eventually that hadn’t been enough and he had to place her in a care home. There she was able to have constant attention doctors on call.
At first there hadn’t seemed to be much change in her. She simply stuttered on a few words, as if half-way through the sentence she had forgotten what she as saying. Other times she seemed to get stuck on a certain word or phrase.
It soon became clear that her memory was going. She forgot certain people she should have remembered. Mycroft still came every week to visit her-even when he’d arrive and she’d look at him as if she knew she should know him, but couldn’t place him. But after he’d introduce himself, she’d remember again. Even thought it made him sad to see his mother in this condition, she seemed to enjoy their visits.
Then one day he arrived told her he was her son, and she went into hysterics. They doctor helped her to her room while Mycroft stood there helplessly. He had phoned Gregory, who had dropped everything to come to him and literally only hold his hand.
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He hadn’t known how difficult it was to have your mother sit across from you every week and not have any idea you were her son, just so they could play a game. So he could see her.
Mycroft would visit every week and they would go for a walk, play a game, sometimes even paint together. Mycroft wasn’t very good, but she would help him and try to teach him what she was doing. Occasionally they discussed things like who should be the next Prime Minister, history, sometimes even philosophy as his mother had always had a soft spot for Socrates. Mycroft himself preferred Voltaire. They had some lovely chats.
Wasn’t it strange that her mind could remember how to play gin, chess, and checkers, yet couldn’t remember people and important dates? She couldn’t remember he was her son. She didn’t even remember his name anymore, only when it was given to her can she hold onto it until their meeting was over.
Occasionally his mother remembered she had children-rather a child. She remembered her son who died suddenly. It was never anything more specific than that.
One time Gregory came with-he did sometimes-and she said that they made a lovely couple. She was so happy her friend had someone to go home to.
Gregory had held him the whole drive home and throughout the entire night. He also hadn’t gotten upset when Mycroft didn’t utter a single word until midway through the morning the following day.
“Your mother must be very proud of you.” Violet’s voice brought him back to the present.
“Sorry?” Mycroft tilted his head.
Violet smiled as she jumped a player of his. “You are so sweet, coming to keep me company. It must make your mother proud.”
“Oh…”Mycroft glanced down. “My mother’s been…gone for some time now.”
“I’m so sorry.” Violet reached across to put her hand over Mycroft’s. “I’m sure she knew how much you loved her.” She squeezed his hand.
“I hope so,” he said softly, gazing down at their hands.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’d be proud if you were my son.”
Mycroft swallowed. “Thank you.”
“Anytime dear.” She patted his hand like she always used to before continuing their game.
AN: There's a much longer fill at my journal, but is has a very severe Mycroft/Lestrade ending. Since I wasn't sure what you wanted and since it had nothing to do with the plot and more to do with my own head-canon, I figured I wouldn't post it here. But feel free to check it out, if anyone wants to! Comfort
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Thank you for filling :)
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Their father died when they were still quite young, forcing the already adult-like Mycroft to become even more so, and sort of 'raised' Sherlock because their Mother rather spoiled Sherlock. Not that their mother loved Sherlock more, but the way she said certain things implied that Mycroft didn't live up to her intentions. Mycroft is, however, the one who eventually puts her in a home because he was driving himself to illness and exhaustion looking after Sherlock, John, Gregory, his mother, and still doing his job.
Something like that.
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My head!canon is that Mycroft and his father were close, mummy couldn't quite connect with him (I see Mycroft as more likely to have Asperger's or similar) but she was very, very close to Sherlock. Then Mr Holmes had an affair (which Sherlock announced), Mycroft was heartbroken by this and blamed Sherlock for pushing dad away. Because mummy reacted badly to the affair, she sort of retreated (drink, depression, something like that) and Mycroft was forced to look after his brother. He loves his mum and does his best keeping her happy/looked after but their relationship is a little strained.
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Well done, bravo!
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