The Fall Of Sherlock

Dead, are you, brother Mine?

"Reminiscing, is it, brother mine?"
Mycroft walked into his own office, despite the late hour, and his dark gaze fell upon his younger sibling's long face, illuminated by a dim screen.
"How... quaint." He smiled, disingenuously, before stopping in front of his desk, just on the wrong side. Sherlock looked up at him, clearly unimpressed with the interruption.
"Reminiscing? No, no. Just... reading. What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I could ask you the same, brother. But I don't need to, it's obvious."
Sherlock scoffed and closed the tab containing John's blog, but didn't put up any argument to his brother's claim. Mycroft's gaze flicked to the recorder, his brow furrowing.
"Listening in on something, were we?"
"Go away, Mycroft," Sherlock spat, looking sheepish. His brother swallowed another comment, deciding against pushing the subject further, no matter how much he may have wanted to.

"I have arranged for his security in your absence. It will be handled by someone downstairs."
"Not by yourself?"
Mycroft scoffed. A long pause followed, with a tense discomfort permeating the air.
"Why are you here, anyway? You didn't say. You don't have work for hours yet."
"I had a feeling someone would be occupying my workspace, and lo and behold..."
"I was hardly going to burn it down."
Mycroft's sarcastic smile tightened. "Precaution, little brother. Can never have too much of it with you."
Then he sat down, trailing the end of his umbrella across the hardwood floor lamely, absently.

"How was the... funeral?"
"How should I know? I wasn't there."
"You bugged Molly Hooper."
Damn. How could he know that? He hadn't told Mycroft that. But there was no escaping the fact that he knew now.
"...fine, I suppose."
"And John?"
"...also fine."
Mycroft hummed. "I heard the Inspector had to finish his speech...?"
How the hell did Mycroft know that?
(...well, Mycroft had... connections. He had a particularly close friend at the funeral who had checked in every day since the news had broken in his division about his brother's death. But Sherlock didn't need to know that.)

"Sherlock... I know you are not entirely happy with this situation, but-"
"Don't."
Sherlock shut down the computer, and the room seemed a lot smaller, almost suffocating, when only having the presence of his brother to fill it. No more John Watson now.
"Don't try and console me. Or anybody. You're not good at it."
"I'm the best you have, little brother."
Now Sherlock scoffed, practically disgusted, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I'm trying to help you."
"I don't need help," he insisted, his words being conveyed like a venomous bite. "I don't need anything, Mycroft. Stop trying to be something you're not."
"What I am is your brother, Sherlock," Mycroft insisted, "I've been there for you before. I've helped you before. I know when you need help. Let me know how I can help you. And I am the only one who can help you."
Sherlock simply didn't listen. He had a mental wall built up so high that he could not see any truth in Mycroft's words, they were instead just empty. So he decided to leave, getting up with no further comments, just a look of sheer near-hatred.

"Please."
Sherlock stopped with one foot out of the door. His brother, pleading. Just to help. Like he had time and time before. And somehow it worked every time.
"He didn't invite you to my funeral."
"Well, we knew he wouldn't."
"He thinks it's your fault."
"Yes. But you aren't really dead, in case it escaped your notice." Sherlock let out a short laugh.
"No, I... I noticed."
Mycroft smiled, almost melancholily, at his brother's faint laughter. He must have said something funny. Huh, go figure.
"He'll be alright, Sherlock. So will you. You will be back in good time."
"But he won't wait."
"No. Why should he? As far as he's concerned, you're dead. People don't wait for the dead. Not even John Watson. The living will keep living their lives, unfortunately."

"What life? I'll be away."
Mycroft smirked.
"Go to bed, brother mine. John Watson will have done."
"Why do you get to tell me what to do?"
"When haven't I?"