Power of the Pen: A new chapter of the Sherlock Holmes fanfic!
New chapter! It needs editing... a lot of editing. But I'll get to that later, sometime when I'm not half asleep. (I finally OFFICIALLY registered for courses!) In the meantime...
An excerpt from the diary of Mycroft Holmes
I sincerely doubt that Sherlock has any idea how intolerable it is to be wearing mourning clothes when there is no one to mourn. I don't think I've ever been so uncomfortable for so long in all my life. My subordinates are tip-toeing around me as if I were a grenade about to explode--and they wonder why I dislike human interaction! --and I am still recieving condolences concerning the loss of my brother, some from people who I am sure never knew I even had a brother.
Well, there's only so much I can take. After all this is over, I'm never mourning him again, no matter how many times he dies.
Come to think of it, I'm not even certain how long the appropriate mourning period is for one's brother. I suppose I should continue to make a show of it, since at least one criminal left in London knows Sherlock is alive. But I don't know that I can take much more of this accursed black.
And as if I did not have enough to do, I have to deal with
[THE FOLLOWING TWO SECTIONS HAVE BEEN CENSORED AS THEY CONTAIN DELICATE MATTERS OF GREAT IMPORTANCE TO NATIONAL AND INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS]
One would think that one of the world's most powerful men would be more mature than that.
I have not heard from Sherlock for some time now--no doubt he will contact me soon enough, when he is in need of further funds. I have been keeping an eye on the Doctor, as he asked, but I'm afraid there is not much I can do for him. The last time I saw him, he was more subdued than I have ever seen him, and his eyes were full of distance. Now where on earth did that phrase come from? I am not the poetic type, as anyone who knows me will agree. But I can think of no better way to describe the look in his eyes.
Sherlock has not told him yet, then. Perhaps he's right; perhaps it is still too early. But I do wish he would just drop it all and announce his continued existance. It's rather trying to see the rest of the city mourning in earnest whilst I sit here with the knowledge that my infuriating brother is alive and well and in Tibet. In Tibet, for heaven's sake!
This one's a bit short, but it's going in between the Lestrade's desk chapter and the second round of letters between the brothers. Eventually I'll get around to writing these things in the order that they'll end up in the story :P