[Johnlock/Mystrade] Tears in rain

Prologue

2024 London  4th year after the end of the Great Purge

The breakfast session ended a little later than expected. Mycroft, 37, idly fiddling with his cufflinks as his assistant stood in front of him, reporting, slightly stiff.

This assistant was Mycroft's 6th this year and had not made any mistakes yet, but judging by his nervy face, it's only a matter of time before Mycroft  kicked him out of the office.

In the end, Anthea was still his best assistant. But sadly, she hadn't survived the purge.

If it's 4 years ago, Mycroft may have grieved. He was still a human back then, a human with humanity.

But humanity, however, had not helped him nor his little brother to escape that disaster, so he chose to erase it for good.

So now, with an impatient wave of his hand, the assistant was silenced and left.

The black umbrella that was so integral to him has become a memory of the last century, Mycroft no longer needed anything to flaunt, for he had no more flaws.

Neither did Sherlock.

And now, Mycroft needed to leave for a tea party with the royal family, which he was supposed to attend with his little brother.

Back then, Sherlock would have scorned or avoided these frivolous gatherings, the tedious etiquette, and murky politics. And they have always been at loggerheads,had always been at each other's throats.

But then when their beloved mother was hanged in front of them for what they call "treason". Things changed. And Mycroft and Sherlock had abandoned the human part of them, becoming gods of revenge.

Sherlock became his brother's most powerful ally and backup. The family's power was regained and they become the actual rulers of the empire. The royal family was just a pawn they kept in the balance and used as a puppet to perform in the foreground.

They depended on each other and supported each other, the barriers that separated them in those early years of brotherly rivalry were melted into dust the moment their mother had died.

Now they became the helm of power, gazing down at the beings beneath their feet, their faces haughty and apathetic, like a god.

The tea party was nothing more than a fawning and flattering affair, the difference between a pro and a novice is neither whether or not the flattering was done on the point, but if it was done without a clue. The King's current assistant minister, Jim Moriarty, was the best of the best and understands that if he wants Holmes to pass the palace budget this year, it would depend on how well he served the two brothers today.

Mycroft, knowing that Sherlock had always disliked these occasions, motioned his brother to go out for some fresh air, leaving himself to tangle with that troublesome assistant minister.

Sherlock walked out impassively, taking a few leisurely steps along the corridor, not going too far in case his brother needed him. A servant hurriedly approached with a large tray of food, not noticing Sherlock standing in the corner, and ran right into him.

The servant's face paled as he looked up to see Mr. Holmes the younger, Sherlock glanced at him slightly strangely, and, ah, he remembered. Wasn't he the officer in the Tower of London at the time? He was a good friend of the guard in charge of his cell, a sarcastic talker who always cut off Sherlock's food.

Patting his coat impassively, Sherlock dropped the poor shaking man and didn't even bother to look at him.

When everyone expected the Holmes brothers to go on a killing spree to get back at those who had betrayed and hurt them, yet all they muster was a smile of inscrutability.

Dying was too simple.

The cruelest torture of all was not to die.

Just as they had done---the two brothers were held separately. They tortured them as much as they could, watching their struggles, their breakdowns, and their misery.

But the two brothers were not allowed to die.

Now, these people must be regretting it.

Not killing Holmes would have given them the chance to overturn the game.

How stupid would someone have to be to make that decision?

Those who were implicated by the Holmes were well compensated. It was not a matter of the brothers returning the favor or having a sudden conscience, but rather a means of gaining support. And the brothers felt that it was a perfect opportunity to make up for the losses they had suffered, so it was a no-brainer that they could offer more.

But there were so many of them, that Mycroft and Sherlock could not compensate for everyone, not to mention the fact that they deleted some unnecessary files. Inevitably, the names involved in these files were lost forever.

But that didn't matter.

All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.

*****

I will update this a bit slower for that this is not complete when it was published. But this fic is my favourite of all time and I'll not be abandoning it.

And again, this one will be highly angst, but with an open ending (so who know, maybe in the future that the book hadn't mention, they might be together.) :D