It had been three weeks since the fall. Mycroft Holmes had not a second of that time to himself. It didn't seemed to have occurred to those bloody reporters that he might have wanted to grieve. Not for Sherlock, the brother he'd hated and loved in equal parts. Just as the media frenzy was dying down., a nondescript cardboard box appeared on his doorstep.
In it was a felt pirate hate, complete with a skull and crossbones. Pinned into the inside was a note. Mycroft paled. He knew that handwriting. It was written in immaculate cursive, with flamboyant, sarcastic flourishes. He only ever saw this kind of handwriting from on person. He knew, even before he lifted the note in between shaking fingers to read the message.
"Thanks for playing along."
YOU ARE READING
Random Sherlock Oneshots
Fanfiction"I know this is a bit stupid. But..... Happy Birthday Sherlock........... I know this was a waste of time...... Why would I say happy birthday to a grave?" -John Hamish Watson
